Mornings After
by EtLaBete
Summary: It starts when Tony's sick with the flu. The rest of the Avengers are indisposed after battle, so Loki is sent to check on him. The visit sparks something and a series of mornings after, which is surprising for Tony, because he never sticks around for the morning after. But neither does Loki. Post Avengers and Thor: The Dark World, and pretending Iron Man 3 never happened. COMPLETE
1. Poetic Justice

Tony doesn't get sick. He's got an immune system as strong as Mjolnir. He's fit as a fiddle. He's in his prime. Echinacea flows through his veins.

"You have the flu, Tony," Bruce repeats for the ninetieth time, looking at the thermometer with a frown. "You can't fly this way. Your fever is almost one-hundred and four. Lay back down before you pass out, or I'm going to take you to the hospital."

Tony sways on his feet and narrows his eyes. He's having a hard time putting his thoughts together, so he just says the words that come to mind. "Can't. Amora. Bitch. Magic. Suit up."

Bruce hands him a few pills and a glass of water. "Take these. Now. We need to get your fever down, I need to go, and you need to rest."

Tony allows Bruce to push him back onto the bed and all but force him to take the pills. The water tastes metallic and no matter how many sips he swallows, his mouth feels dry and his eyes burn.

"Just rest," Bruce says.

"Oh, fine," Tony grunts. He closes his eyes against the light— why couldn't Bruce be a pal and shut the damned curtains— and opens them a second later to darkness.

For a moment, he isn't sure where he is, and he inhales, hoping to God he doesn't smell desert and blood. He can't smell anything, though, because his nose is stuffed up and he can barely breathe. Sitting up, he looks around wildly, hoping he'll be able to see something in the darkness, and finds himself staring at a pair of over-bright eyes reflecting the icy glow of his arc reactor.

"Uh, creepy. Jarvis, turn on the lights."

"Of course, sir."

The bedside lamp flickers on. Tony blinks, allowing his vision to adjust, then focuses. Loki is lounging in a chair a few feet from the bed. His dark hair is pulled back from his face, and he's wearing casual clothes that are wrinkled, like he's been sitting there for a long time.

"Stark," Loki says dismissively, though he watches Tony like a hawk. "You've finally awoke."

"Finally?" Tony echoes, grimacing. He must have been out for quite a while, long enough for daylight to die and his meds to wear off. His head throbs and he's freezing all of a sudden. "Where am I? What time is it?"

"You are in your bed, quite obviously, and it is nearly midnight," Loki responds, tilting his head to the side. A few strands of dark hair fall over his face. "Your Avengers were injured in their battle with Amora and Skurge. I've been sent here to monitor you while they lick their wounds."

Tony groans and lays back against his pillows. "Nurse Ratchet to the rescue, huh?"

"You know I do not understand your pop culture references," Loki states impassively.

"You disgust me. You've been here how long, and you still haven't watched _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_?"

Even when he isn't feeling like death warmed up, Tony finds it odd that he and the God of Mischief can have conversations like these— conversations he'd have with Steve, who is almost as useless as Loki when it comes to knowledge of Earth's twenty-first century. He actually likes their conversations, too. They're mostly a series of witty retorts, and despite the haughty image Loki portrays, he's pretty smart, and Tony likes talking to smart people. He especially likes talking to smart people who are awed by his genius. Loki is silent about it, but Tony doesn't miss the softening of his hardened exterior when he visits the workshop.

The others have come to terms with him, as well, in their own ways. It is a tenuous tolerance, but it's there. Tony isn't sure if any of them would call it trust, not yet, but Loki hasn't given them reason to doubt him since he appeared, almost two years later, in the same room where Tony offered the god a drink just before said god tossed him out a window for his troubles.

The reappearance had been a day for the history books: a bruised, battered, supposedly dead Loki blinking back into existence and asking for protection.

Even though most of them wanted to say no at the time, the look of utter relief on Thor's face when his eyes landed on his brother had cemented their fate of Avengers plus one. They'd heard the story, the one where Loki died in a dark realm called Svartalfheim trying to save his brother and Jane Foster from the Dark Elves, and none of them had the gall to tell Thor to shove it after they watched him grieve for nearly a year, not even when Natasha pointed out that Loki obviously lied about dying.

Details.

So, they all hoped he was reformed enough not to kill them in their sleep, and Loki stayed. And maybe they do trust him, at least a little bit, because at some point between then and now, Steve Rogers, Captain America and leader of the Avengers, had enough confidence in the former enemy to send him as a babysitter for a sick, whiny Tony Stark.

"I do not trust your film recommendations any longer," Loki replies. "Not after— what did you call that monstrosity? _Sharknado_?"

"That was _one_ bad movie," Tony defends, then starts coughing. He suddenly realizes how much everything is just_ aching_. When he finally stops hacking, throat raw and burning, he wipes at his nose with the back of his hand and tries to keep his eyes open despite the horrible throbbing in his temples.

Loki has edged his chair closer to the bed, and his lips pull into a frown.

"You don't have to stay," Tony says hoarsely, uncomfortable with the way Loki blatantly stares at him. "I'm fine. Right, Jarvis?"

"Sir, your body temperature is at one-hundred and three point two degrees and rising. I would not categorize that as _fine_."

Tony curses under his breath. "You traitor."

"I would not leave you alone, Stark. Tell me what it is you need."

Maybe he's hallucinating, but he's pretty sure he sees _concern_ on Loki's face. It hits Tony where it hurts, just a bit left of his arc reactor, and he isn't sure why. Maybe he's happy to see something other than disdain or annoyance directed at him. Maybe he just wants the megalomanic to like him. Maybe it's all the meds Bruce made him take. He doesn't read into it. He doesn't like reading, not unless it's on a pretty, bright touch tablet.

"More cowbell," he says instead.

Loki's expression darkens. "I understand that reference, but I do not appreciate your wit at such a time. Tell me what it is you need for betterment, Stark."

Tony sinks into his pillows, wishing they would swallow him whole, and sighs loudly. "Fine, mom. Can you get a cold rag? Or an ice pack? Something. Need to break the fever. I think I'm losing it."

"Have you ever had it, I wonder?" Loki asks, and disappears.

Tony looks around the room, but Loki is no where to be seen. The god frequently flashes in and out of existence, especially when Clint is around because the archer hates it so much, so Tony prepares himself for Loki to reappear in a haze of green light. He waits. And waits. And waits.

"Jarvis, where is that bastard?"

"I cannot pinpoint his location, sir."

"What do I even pay you for?" Tony grunts and stacks his pillows behind him so he's sitting up, because when he lays back he feels a pressure build in his head that threatens to blow out his eyeballs. Soon, he's given up and is starting to doze off when Loki reappears, sitting on the edge of Tony's bed like he's always been there. Tony jumps, flinging one pillow off of the bed.

"Did you miss me, Stark?" Loki asks, feigning innocence.

"What is wrong with you?" Tony wheezes, pressing a hand to his chest. The arc reactor hums contentedly, but his heart is thudding like horse hooves.

"Many a thing," Loki replies, flashing a devilish grin, then reaches forward and presses a hand to Tony's forehead.

Tony freezes. Loki's hand is cold, beautifully cold against his feverish skin, and it takes all his effort not to close his eyes against the sensation.

"You feel like a freezer. Are you anemic? Maybe you need to take more iron."

"It is my normal physiology, Stark," Loki replies, and Tony thinks he hears tension in the words. He chances a glance at the god, who is already staring at him from beneath half lidded eyes.

He doesn't _look_ pissed, so Tony goes for it. "Like, Asgardian physiology? Thor doesn't feel like this. He's a goddamned walking space heater. I hate sitting next to him for movie night."

"Perhaps you should ask Thor," Loki says icily. "Or perhaps he is too disgraced to have a brother of Jotun decent."

He has no idea what a jotun is, but he can tell it rubs Loki the wrong way. The god straightens, eyes darkening, and his long fingers curl more tightly to Tony's forehead. Tony doesn't mind the fingers- damn, it feels good, but he doesn't like the look, so he avoids the Jotun bit all together. "Thor? Disgraced by you? You killed a lot of people and he still vouches for you. I doubt it." Tony leans in farther until Loki's fingers are sliding through his hair. He could get used to this.

After several moments of silence, the god looks away, some of the fight dissolving. "There are similar ailments on Asgard," he murmurs into the quiet of the room. "Similar to your flu."

Tony allows the subject change. He doesn't have the energy to defend himself if Loki decides to kill him, and if he's honest with himself— he's never honest with himself— he doesn't like the way the god's expression changes. He's seen that expression in the mirror before.

"Can you fix it?" he asks instead, almost whines. "I don't like being sick. I'll give you whatever you want. Endless kettle corn. A room full of weird reindeer hats. Anything."

He's rewarded when a smirk tilts up the corner of Loki's mouth. "Whatever I wish, you say?"

Tony's glad he's already feverish, because that look is sexy and he might have flushed. "I change my mind. Get yours out of the gutter, Laufeyson. I'm redacting the deal. Only option is endless kettle corn, which is probably the best option anyway, to be honest."

He thinks he sees Loki fighting a smile, but the god's willpower wins and his mask settles back in place. "Has it occurred to you that I only listen to a small percentage of what you speak?" he asks.

Tony laughs out loud at that even though it hurts his throat. "Well, that's more than anyone else does. So, what do you say, doctor? Can you fix it?"

"I cannot. My healing abilities do not stem into illness, though I may be able to dull your head and body pains." Loki raises a brow, almost challenging him. "Would you like me to try?"

Tony puts a hand to his mouth and widens his eyes."Well, my word. You're asking my permission? Who are you and what did you do with the real God of Mischief? Have you been compromised? Show me where the man with the magic spear touched you."

Loki snorts and slowly closes his eyes, and then the hand on Loki's forehead begins to glow a soft verdant green.

The magic is cold, much colder than Tony expects, and he gasps. It seeps through his eyes and ears, swims around his head, and then settles, tickling his synapses like a fresh snowfall. He feels almost immediate relief and leans into it, sighing.

"Okay, I admit it, your magic mumbo jumbo is pretty impressive," Tony mutters, eyelids heavy. "Is this what hypothermia feels like? If so, color me kinky because I kinda like it."

"Do you ever stop speaking, Stark?" Loki says, a note of annoyance in his voice. "Or is such a task beyond you?"

"Um, you're in my bed. My bed, my rules." Tony pauses, thinks better of it, but says it anyway. "And you're slightly too clothed for my bed buddy liking. At least you've lost the leather. Totally not my thing. I prefer naked."

Loki does not respond, merely presses his other hand to Tony's bare chest, his cool palm covering the light of arc reactor.

Tony's eyes widen and any other smart-ass comment he thinks he wants to blather at the god dies in his throat. No one reaches out to touch his reactor. It's an unspoken rule. Not even Pepper, and Pepper's touched a lot of places. But this isn't Pepper. This is a god, and not just any god. This is Loki, his former enemy, and he could dig his magic fingers in and tear the reactor from Tony's chest without even breaking a sweat if he wanted to. Tony doesn't think he will, but the fear curls in his belly, anyway.

He gets nothing from Loki. The god's face is still blank except for a crease between his eyebrows and a downward curl of his lips. Tony can feel the magic coursing through him, snaking through flesh and muscle and bone. It mingles with the energy of his arc reactor, synching to the rhythm until it is a melodious, electrical hum inside of his chest that spreads through his body until he can feel it in his toes.

"What are you doing?" Tony whispers finally, and even though his head feels great, albeit a bit swimmy, he doesn't think he's ever felt so vulnerable in his life.

"I have always been curious of the blue cylinder in your chest," Loki murmurs as he removes his hand from Tony's head but keeps the other planted against his chest. "Ever since I touched the spear to it and you did not become mine. I was prepared to conquer Midgard, but I should have known failure was imminent when I could not conquer one man. Would I have known then how things would change. What do you mortals call this? Poetic justice, isn't it?"

Tony swallows. The god's voice is surprisingly husky, and it's curling something else in his belly besides fear. He's _definitely_ not reading into that. "That sounds about right," he says, but his focus remains on Loki's hand. "Or maybe Karma. You're stuck with me for all eternity now after ruining my window."

"Is it not you who is stuck with me?" Loki replies quietly, the words strained.

Tony feels a pang. He remembers what it was like when he was hailed as the Merchant of Death instead of Iron Man. He remembers a time before Friday mornings with Steve in a pink apron making pancakes, before he had Bruce to do sciencey things with, before he was involved in this college fraternity house setting that he hated the idea of at first but secretly loves now because back then, he couldn't prank Clint whenever he wanted, or play cards with Natasha, or coordinate movie nights or board game nights or margarita nights or whatever nights he wanted.

He remembers what it was like to be alone, even when he was surrounded by hundreds of people, and its why he was the only Avenger, Thor aside, who wanted to give Loki a chance. He saw the expression that flitted across Loki's face when Tony listed his comrades just before the god tossed him out a window. He knew longing when he saw it, no matter how well it was hidden behind rage and violence.

Tony watches the pale figure now and wonders when it started, this odd affection, then says, "Stuck with a friend for all eternity? Especially one who can just magic shit into existence? Seems like a pretty good deal to me."

Loki jerks at that, and Tony thinks his mouth quivers, but the mask is back before he can discern the look.

"Stop speaking," Loki grits out. "I am trying to work."

Tony almost laughs, because he's said that to Loki about a million times when the god decides to just appear in his workshop and tinker with everything. After another coughing fit, he asks, "What is it you're actually working on?"

Loki doesn't respond, but after a moment, he pulls back suddenly, shock apparent. His eyes reflect the reactor's light, washing him out until he looks like a ghost, all sharp planes and dark shadows. "It protects your heart form the metal shards surrounding it."

Tony feels himself closing off immediately. He hates having this conversation. He brags and puffs out his chest, spouting off about arc technology and all that jazz, but it chips away at him each and every time because its a stark reminder of everything he's lost.

"Yup," he manages, voice steady, but something's unfurling in his chest that feels a lot like anger. He shouldn't be angry. He knows Loki likes to push buttons. He does the same. In fact, he's done nothing but breach the boundaries Loki's tried to set since he arrived—

"You do not fail to astound me, Stark," the god states, shaking his head. There is a smile falling into place, and he regards Tony cooly. "You are quite a specimen."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Tony bites back.

Loki raises a brow, then leans forward and taps the arc reactor with his nail, allowing his fingertips to graze the glass and metal and occasionally the surrounding skin that's fuzed to it. "You don that metal suit and fight for the lives of others when you stand on the brink of death daily. I recall a time when you removed the suit and offered me drink as I lay waste to your city. It is impressive, your resolve. And your stupidity."

"Are you…" Tony clears his throat, trying to ignore the thudding of his heart. "I know I heard the word _stupid_ in there, but are you complimenting me?"

Loki full-out grins now, eyes glinting, and he pulls back his hand. "Take it as you will, Stark. I will not dissect it for you. I quite enjoy watching your mind emit smoke as you attempt to problem solve."

Tony opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a series of dry hacking coughs. He falls back into his pillows, suddenly exhausted. "Well, unfortunately for you, I can't problem solve because_ I'm dying_."

Loki closes his hand, and when he opens it, there are two white tablets that look familiar.

"Gasp! Did Bruce put you up to this? I thought we were bonding but you're actually fraternizing with the enemy."

Loki just smiles his aggravating smile and holds out his hand, producing a glass of water in the other.

"Well, I'm tired of dealing with you, anyway," Tony says. He takes the pills and a few sips of water without arguing. "Jarvis, lights."

"Of course, sir."

The room goes dark. Loki's presence leaves the bed and Tony thinks he's gone, but then he hears when it settles back on the chair in a creak of wood.

"Are you really staying?" he asks.

"I was tasked by the Captain, after all," Loki replies, but its a weak excuse, and Tony's sure they both know it because like Tony, Loki rarely listens to the Captain when he can get away with it.

He can just barely make out the long lines of the god's body, highlighted by the arc reactor's glow, as he slides down in the chair until his legs splay out in front of him.

"You're making my back hurt just looking at you."

Silence, and then: "Are you inviting me to your bed, Stark?"

Tony closes his eyes and exhales. He'd do it, he realizes sleepily. He'd take the god to bed, and he has no doubt it would be explosive. He might even stick around after for some cuddling. He's pretty sure Loki would do it, too, because Tony doesn't just hear a smirk in his voice. No, he hears the huskiness again, the slow burn of desire.

But maybe another time, when he isn't dying of the flu and his head isn't swimming. "I'm an expensive date. I don't think you can afford me," he yawns.

Tony falls asleep almost immediately to the sound of Loki's soft laugher.


	2. Friday Morning Pancakes

**Friday Morning Pancakes **

* * *

So, I did not intend to write a follow up to Poetic Justice. It was meant to be a one-time deal for a friend.

Well, that's obviously gone according to plan. Thank you all for the support and enjoy. :)

* * *

Tony doesn't like weird. This is why, despite his trial relationship with Pepper that failed miserably, Tony spent most of his young adult, adult, and superhero years involved in a startling array of one-night stands where he didn't have to fall asleep or wake up next to someone else. Maybe he has trust issues. Or maybe he has commitment issues. Or maybe it's the most likely scenario, which is a lot of both. Either way, he doesn't trust anyone enough to fall asleep next to them, not after the reactor became a part of him—_especially_ not after the reactor became a part of him— and he hates the semantics of the morning after because he never plans for repeat performances, and that can be a bit difficult to explain when you have someone draped across you wanting breakfast.

So, even though there was no sex, just some odd touchy-feely business_,_ it's weird, really fucking weird, that he's waking up to the God of Mischief fast asleep in the chair he'd camped out in the night before.

He's genuinely surprised Loki is still there. He'd expected him to disappear as soon as Tony drifted off. The god trusts even less than Tony, and nothing says vulnerability like letting someone else watch you sleep. However, it seems all of Tony's assumptions have gone to shit because even though he remembers the sequence of events through a fever-induced haze, he remembers enough.

Tony has no idea what to make of the odd intimacies they shared. And when it comes to the two of them, it was _definitely_ intimate, physical attraction aside. There had been some of that, too, physical attraction, but it's the emotional intimacy that has him freaked the fuck out. He thinks about Loki using his magic as x-ray vision to find the asteroid field of debris in his chest and replays the sensation of cool fingers tracing the scarred skin surrounding his arc reactor. It makes his pulse jumpstart. He doesn't know what to make of that, and he doesn't like having to self reflect.

This is all just another reason to hate the morning after, he tells himself, but he sits up slowly and studies the god, drinking in the view. Loki's arms are folded across his chest, and he's slouched in the chair, legs extended, head tilted to the side at an uncomfortable angle that exposes a long, pale column of throat. His dark hair came loose sometime in the night, and it's cascading over part of his face. He looks much older when he sleeps, which Tony finds interesting, and he wonders for the first time how old Loki really is, what he's seen in all of those years. He wonders if the stories he read on Wikipedia are true.

He hopes some of them aren't. Some of them are really fucked up, and Tony's never liked horses.

He's still staring, eyes following the contours of the god's lithe body, when Loki stretches, languid as a cat, and opens his eyes.

"Uh." Tony's heart speeds up, but he ignores it because he hasn't had coffee in two days, and his brain can't keep up with the thoughts swarming inside of his head. "Morning, sunshine."

Loki blinks a few times and uses his legs to propel himself back up to a normal sitting position. With a graceful swipe, he pushes the hair from his face and levels Tony with a stare. "Good morning," he replies tersely.

The weirdness hangs in the air like a bomb ready to go off.

"How did you sleep?" Tony asks lamely.

Loki flashes him a humorless smile. "Poorly, as you might imagine." He pauses in the middle of rolling his shoulders, head tilted to the side, and then asks, "Are you at all improved?"

That _really _throws Tony off. He doesn't think Loki's ever asked about anyone's wellbeing, let alone his. The god's expression is guarded, but he's staring at Tony with an intensity that could set fire to the sheets. Pinned by that gaze, Tony barely registers the fact that he's still achy and congested and his throat feels like sandpaper when he swallows. He didn't think he had a fever two minutes ago. He isn't so sure now.

"I feel a lot more like I was hit by a Fiat 500 versus hit by a mac truck," he manages to reply. "So, it could be worse. Must be thanks to your vigilant nursing."

Loki raises a brow and offers a brief nod, then stands. He stretches again, reaching upwards and exposing a sliver of skin and a hipbone. "I would be on my way, then, before my oaf of a brother begins to panic wondering where I've gone."

Before Tony has a chance to reply, Loki disappears.

Tony rolls his eyes and offers the air a two-fingered salute. "Thanks for coming."

He tosses his blanket aside, ready to just move on, to forget about how fucked up his head is from all of this, and he's about to get out of bed when he's shoved back into his pillows, two sinewy legs straddling his hips and cold fingers curling around his wrists and pinning them to his sides. His entire body goes rigid, preparing for a fight, but then he looks up and all that determination rushes to his groin.

Loki looks positively evil smiling down at him with his hair hanging around his face. He leans forward, curving his back until a few strands tickle Tony's cheek and their hips grind together. Tony has to bite back a groan. He isn't the only one who's hard.

"I do not recall coming," the god murmurs, fingers tightening on Tony's wrists enough to bruise. "Perhaps next time?"

Loki drags his hips forward, and Tony has to use the little self control he has not to buck up into the motion. "Jesus fuck, what are you even doing?" he grinds out, closing his eyes briefly before meeting Loki's gaze.

Loki's eyes are a stormy green, and if possible, his grin becomes even more predatory. Tony's pulse picks up and he can barely hear Loki over the whoosh of it in his ears.

"If it is not blatantly obvious, Stark, then I fear I have overestimated you."

Loki disappears again.

Tony doesn't think it's smart for someone with the flu to take a cold shower. He takes one anyway. It helps his raging hard on, but any progress he thought he made is tossed out the window that afternoon when his fever comes back with a vengeance and his head throbs with the tenacity of a jackhammer.

Four days, an annoying amount of Bruce by his bedside, several cups of unwanted tea, and no sign of Loki later, Tony wakes up drenched in sweat and feeling a hell of a lot better. The lingering cough is wet and persistent, but the head and body aches are gone, so he takes it as a win.

"Jarvis, what day is it even?" he croaks blearily.

The curtains automatically open, allowing the foggy morning glow to wash over the room. "It is Friday, June thirteenth, sir."

Tony claps his hands together like a kid on Christmas. "Oh my god, perfect timing for Operation Fuck the Flu. Please tell me it isn't too late."

"No, sir. It is 7:05am. You have almost an hour before Captain Rogers begins." Jarvis sounds robotically amused.

Tony is out of bed immediately. "More than enough time."

He showers and dresses, surprised as how good it feels to don real clothes after almost a week of wearing pajamas and using his sheets as a toga.

When Tony walks into the kitchen at 7:45am, everyone's already seated and waiting, watching Steve in his pink apron like he's about to do a magic trick. Tony bought him the apron as a joke, and Steve— bless his heart— wears it every single time. The kitchen smells heavenly. He sinks into his normal seat between Bruce and Natasha with Thor and Clint across from him. The lot of them looks tired, and no one looks too worse for wear, but Natasha's right arm is in a sling and her left cheek is turning a beautiful shade of greenish purple.

Anger builds up in Tony's stomach like acid. He never wanted to be a part of this team. After New York, he argued with Fury about it, especially when the whole of the Avengers moved into his newly renovated tower. Even after SHIELD fell to Hydra and he helped build it back up with Coulson taking the reigns, he considered bowing out. But he can't, and he won't, and now that he's a static part of it all for better or for worse, any failure punches a hole right through his gut, especially if it means one of his team is injured.

He doesn't take failure well. Daddy issues and all that. So, Tony's going to blast a hole through Skurge's chest the next time they meet up. Problem solved.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Steve says happily once he's seated. "Pancakes?"

"Oh, god, yes," Tony groans, leaning back. "Food of the gods. All Bruce has been feeding me is horse meal."

Bruce's smile is tight-lipped. "Oatmeal, Tony. It's oatmeal."

"You look like shit," Clint says happily.

"You want to start with me, Robin Hood? I heard all about your little tryst with Amora. Apparently someone's a little weak minded and easily mind controlled."

Clint narrows his eyes, offering Bruce a dirty look because who else would add fuel to the Tony Stark fire and tell him about touchy subjects, and then he points at Tony with his fork. "I could totally take you right now, Mr. Weak and Feeble."

"Performance issues got you down?" Tony replies haughtily. "Actually, let's just stop the banter and focus on the important things. I just really need coffee. Steve. Buddy. Pal. Oh Captain, my captain. Please."

"Do not interrupt the chef," Clint says dangerously, but he scoots his chair back towards the counter and, still sitting, grabs a mug and fills it with coffee. He hands the mug to Tony with a dirty look.

"Thank you, dear," Tony says with a bat of his lashes, then takes a sip. It's divine. He could die happily. He groans into the next sip.

"Do you two need a room?" Natasha asks.

"Who wants the first stack?" Steve asks.

Silence settles over the table as everyone looks around. Then Thor states, "Maidens are to be served first" at the same time that Clint says, "Me!"

"You heard the maiden," Natasha says without so much as a smile or a hitch, and gestures at Clint with her good hand.

They all laugh while Clint sinks down in his seat, and Steve sets the first plate in front of Natasha anyway.

Everyone else is served, and Tony is salivating by the time Steve walks towards the table with his plate. The pancakes are piping hot, buttery steam wafting above them, and Tony reaches forward to grab the plate like a drowning man reaching for a flotation device when the air around him pops with energy and a cold hand takes a hold of his wrist.

He knows that touch. Clearing his throat, he starts to crane his head around. "Hey," he growls. "Mine."

He isn't expecting how close the god is, though, and freezes about an inch from Loki's lips.

The god doesn't smile outright, but Tony can see the playful, daring glint in his eyes. Tony angles his head back immediately, putting several inches between their faces even though a part of him longs to lean in. The last thing he needs is to continue where they left off with Thor sitting right across from him.

Clint's fork clatters against his plate. "Why do you always do that?" he demands. "Just _appearing_ out of _no where_!"

"Brother!" Thor booms, his face splitting into a bright, toothy smile. "Would you join us this morn for pancakes?"

Tony snorts, because he always gets a kick out of Thor-isms combined with modern day words or phrases, but tugs his wrist free and grabs his plate possessively. "Get your own pancakes, David Copperfield," he says.

Loki just raises a brow.

"I'll have another up in five, Loki," Steve says, still blinking through his shock. Tony can't blame the confusion. He's used to Loki's presence after the days and nights of the god loitering in his workshop, but the rest of the gang, Thor aside, still haven't seen much of him in group settings. Loki has never joined them for pancakes. He's never joined them for a meal, actually. He occasionally pops into existence during horror films to scare the shit out of Clint because Tony thinks he likes the way Natasha cackles, completely unladylike, and occasionally Tony catches his shadow out of the corner of his eye in the back of the living room when they watch a drama, leaning against the windowsill and far enough away that he isn't really a part of the group.

But he doesn't care if this is the first time Loki's come down for pancakes. He isn't sharing. He's about to put the first forkful of fluffy goodness into his mouth when Loki's long fingers curl around the back of his neck.

"I will fight you," Tony says, and then he's in a black vacuum that makes all of his extremities go numb and his lungs cave in until he can't breathe. He feels weightless and solid, entirely too solid, like he might sink into the blackness and drown.

He's reinflated with air seconds later and drops the pancake-laden fork he's still holding. Gasping and coughing, he stumbles forward and looks up at Loki, who is holding onto his shoulders to stop him from falling over. The god smiles, a quirk of the lips somewhere between mischievous and thrilled. His eyes are still glowing with the aftereffect of magic use.

Tony swats his hands away and seethes, "What the fuck was that?"

Loki doesn't answer, just continues smiling. Tony looks around and his eyes widen. They're in his workshop. In his fucking workshop.

"Did you just teleport me?" he demands, then laughs. He feels the excitement bubble up in his chest as he turns around. "Holy shit, that is awesome."

He's still shaking his head and looking around when Loki leans in and brushes his lips against Tony's.

It's oddly gentle, nothing like the way Loki held him down on the bed, and Tony blinks, everything going blank. "I— what?"

"Many thanks," Loki drawls, grin widening, "for the pancakes."

"Oh, _no_," Tony starts and reaches out for him, but Loki is gone. "You son of a bitch."

Fuming and a little giddy, Tony gets Jarvis to unlock all of the doors. He's never been locked in his own lab before, and he's both happy with and pissed off by the security— he really needs some anti-magic thingy to keep magic users out of his workshop, and probably the headquarters in general. A project for another time. Right now, pancakes are more important. Pancakes and throttling a certain god of mischief.

He waits at the elevator, because it isn't at this floor, and Tony can't believe how long it's taking him get around his own goddamned tower. When he finally makes it back into the kitchen, breathing heavily and hacking up his lungs from running part of the way even though he's still not feeling one-hundred percent, he's met with a sight that stops him dead in his tracks. He stands in the doorway, mouth agape.

He expected Loki to fuck with him, but he didn't expect to find the god sitting at the table, actually eating his pancakes. He's sitting between Clint and Thor (Thor, who looks like he's won the fucking lottery, and Clint, who doesn't look like he's really sure what's going on). He isn't smiling. He isn't even speaking. He's just listening as he eats, eyes darting between the others at the table as he follows their conversation. When his gaze lands on Tony, a lazy smile drags at his lips, and he puts a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.

The god looks so proud of himself, and Tony would throttle him if it wasn't so adorable and sexy. He's not even going to put any brain power into figuring that one out. He's just going to let it be what it is.

"Tony," Steve says, because he's noticed him, and he's trying not to smile. "I kept the pan hot. I'll make you some right now."

"This is no way to treat someone who's sick," Tony manages before he dissolves into a coughing fit.

"I'll make you some tea," Bruce says, pushing back from the table and putting the kettle on.

"Can you give me, you know, a finger or two of whiskey instead?"

Bruce narrows his eyes. "You're going to drink the tea. Did you take your meds this morning?"

"No, mom," Tony seethes, words breaking apart from the strain on his throat.

Natasha pats his seat. She's giving him her normal, tight-lipped Natasha smile, but Tony knows, just knows, that she has an idea about what's going on even though Tony isn't sure he knows what's happening. He sits down, basically falls into the chair like a kid having a tantrum, and eyes Steve's pink-aproned form.

"These better be the best fucking pancakes I've ever had, Captain."

They are— they always are— and Tony finishes his with gusto.

He's aware that Loki is watching him the entire time, even after he's finished his pancakes. He finally thinks, _fuck it_, and stares back, frustrated and a little excited by the shiver that crawls unprecedented down his back. Loki's mouth twitches, like he knows, and that only exacerbates the feeling.

Tony doesn't understand where this attraction started. He knows that on a base level, when labels like hero, villain, good, and evil are set aside, he and Loki function on a similar plane of existence. They like power, they like knowledge, and they like it showy. And damn, they're both as vain as can be, but Tony doesn't think it's an attraction to what they see of themselves in each other that has them edging towards the precipice like moths to a flame.

He can't understand it, but he wants it, even if Loki is a wildcard and it will probably blow up in their faces.

No one ever claimed that Tony Stark made good decisions. No particular reason to start now.

"Who's got cleanup?" Steve asks as he unties his apron.

Clint nods towards Loki. "I think the newbie should do the dishes."

Everyone is silent, and Clint looks like he's about to recant his statement because he still trusts Loki the least out of everyone, but then a grin blooms across Loki's face and he raises a hand. A verdant glow surrounds his fingers, smoking like fire, and he waves his hand. All of the plates disappear from the table, and then Tony hears the sound of porcelain clicking together in the cabinets.

"Why do I even hire a cleaning service when Magic Hands is here?" Tony asks, and Natasha snorts.

"Uh, thanks," Steve says.

Thor looks like someone just handed him happiness on a golden plate. "This has been a most pleasing morning."

Tony opens his mouth to speak and a series of body-quaking coughs tear up his throat and past his lips. He hunches over, chest heaving, and wheezes into the crook of his elbow until he feels lightheaded and weak. When it passes, he sags back into his chair. "Medic," he says jokingly, but he sounds too breathy, too tired.

"Tony, you need to get back to bed," Bruce replies and pushes the cup of tea that Tony edged away back in front of him. "And drink the tea. It will help your throat."

"I'll just relax here for a while," Tony says and allows his eyelids to half-close. "Come back in an hour. My legs will work then."

Thor stands, his face a mask of determination. "I shall carry you to bed, Tony Stark."

There is silence, and then Clint is clutching his stomach he's laughing so hard. He doesn't even stop when Natasha elbows him in the ribs with her good arm.

"I can port him to his chambers."

Clint's cackling is cut short, and everyone turns to look at Loki, who sits with his hands folded on the table. He smiles blandly.

"Tony?" Steve says.

Tony shrugs. "A free teleportation service? I could get used to this."

Bruce rolls his eyes. "Make him take his meds."

"Of course, Dr. Banner," Loki replies and stands.

Tony watches him, long limbs and languid movements. He doesn't understand how someone can move so fluidly. Loki places his hand on Tony's neck again, then looks towards Steve.

"Thank you, Captain Rogers, for the meal. It was very pleasing."

Steve blushes, and Tony and Clint both look at each other before they start laughing. Natasha is fighting it and losing, and Bruce just shakes his head, dopey grin in place. And Thor. Tony's laughter dies in his throat. Thor's smile is small compared to the huge grins he's seen take over the god's face, but there's something about the small smile that tears at Tony's heart. He realizes, after a moment, that it's because the god looks like he might cry. He's so happy he might cry. Thor, God of Thunder, a literal legend, the future king of Asgard, might cry, all because his adopted brother is having a moment with the rest of the team.

"All right, I need a nap," Tony says gruffly. He can't do feelings on a good day, let alone when he's sick. "Beam me up, Scotty."

Loki roll his eyes, fingers tightening on Tony's neck. "Your references are tedious, Stark."

"It totally works, though! Have I made you watch Star Trek yet? Please tell me I have."

Loki doesn't respond, and then they're engulfed in the same blackness as before.

He tears back into reality seconds later in his own room, right next to his bed, and he collapses on it. "That packs a punch, doesn't it?" he mutters, dizzy. Bright lights flash across his vision.

"It is because you are unwell," Loki replies.

After a minute of staring at the ceiling, Tony sits up, grunting at the way his head wobbles. He focuses on Loki and realizes the mug of tea from the kitchen is wrapped in the god's hands. Loki stares at it, a semi-disinterested look on his face, and the steam curls up from the mug.

"You're like a walking microwave. Seriously, I should hire you as my personal assistant," Tony says when the god hands him the mug.

A moment later, Loki is holding out a few tablets, as well.

"You're almost as functional as Pepper. Can you forge my signature with your magic? If so, the job is yours."

"What is it you said?" Loki asks thoughtfully, one brow arching. "I do not believe you could afford me, Tony Stark."

There's something in the way the god's voice drops that ignites a familiar heat in Tony's groin. He tosses the pills into his mouth and takes a sip of the tea— it's the just perfect amount of hot— and shrugs as he swallows. "I have a lot of money, thankfully. You know, technology empire and all that." He pauses, then says, "Also, what's with the kiss, Aphrodite? I mean, don't get me wrong, it was nice, but—"

The mug disappears from his hand without warning and Tony jumps. He doesn't have enough time to ask before Loki straddles him, cups Tony's face in his impossibly cool hands, and slots their lips together.

The god's lips are cold, but his tongue is hot, and Tony groans into the kiss, his hands moving of their own accord to grip Loki's waist. The god arches into him, their chests flush together, and then Loki's hands slide from his face into his hair, tugging gently at first, then more insistently. He pulls Tony's head back, and Tony is about to speak, but the words dissolve into a gasp when Loki begins to kiss and nip and lick as his jaw.

Tony is ready to tear off the god's clothing when he feels the tickle build in his throat. He presses his hands against Loki's chest and pushes him away. Loki looks surprised, green eyes widening a fraction as they stare at each other. Then Tony turns his head to the side and starts coughing into his own shoulder, eyes tearing up from the force of it. The hacking subsides quickly enough, but his throat feels like someone just shredded it to ribbons. He swallows gingerly and then offers a sheepish smile.

Loki sighs and climbs out of Tony's lap carefully. His fingers linger in Tony's hair a second too long. Tony almost grabs him and pulls him back onto the bed, but he manages to resist.

"You should rest," Loki says. The cup of tea appears in his hand, and he holds it out to Tony. "And drink this."

Tony imbibes the lukewarm liquid in a few large gulps and then scoots back towards his pillows, eyes never leaving Loki, who stands there almost restlessly. He steps from side to side, adjusting his weight, and tugs at the hem of his shirt.

"Why did you kiss me?" Tony asks as he pulls the covers over his legs and waist.

Loki watches him thoughtfully, then says, "Computer, I would have you close the curtains."

"Of course, Mr. Laufeyson," Jarvis replies, and the curtains slowly inch together.

Tony leans back against his pillows. "You're not going to answer me."

"Sleep well, Stark," Loki says. By the time the curtains are completely closed, he's gone.

"This is going to end badly," Tony says out loud.

He dozes off grinning. He likes to beat the odds.


	3. Vitals

**Vitals**

* * *

And it continues. I really did not plan for this. But damn, it's fun.

Please note that this chapter contains** explicit sexual content**. :) Enjoy!

* * *

It takes another few days before Tony is one-hundred percent back to normal, and by then he is buzzing with pent up energy because Bruce basically locked him in his room. He hoped that Loki would at least visit him and start up where they left off before Tony imploded a lung, but the god is no where to be found, even when Tony's finally out of bed.

He tries not to think about it, and he sure as hell isn't about to ask Thor where brother dearest has disappeared to. They stopped "containing" Loki in the tower nearly three months ago— Tony always uses finger quotes because he's positive the god could have dropped the mic and walked out anytime if he really wanted to— and occasionally, he disappears. Sometimes it's for a day. Once, he was gone for almost two weeks. It's none of Tony's business, and he doesn't care, not really. Not that it would matter if he did, because even though he's itching for the god's frosty touch, Loki is MIA and Tony's got a lot of other really important things to think about that don't include the god licking a cool trail along his jawline.

In a way, it's probably a good thing that the god's decided to go on a mini-vacation away from Headquarters. After being bedridden for almost two weeks, ideas are all but flying out of his ears. Tony's been thinking about the magical problem a lot since he was whisked along on Loki's teleportation adventure. At Tony's behest, Jarvis has been monitoring Loki since his return to Earth in an attempt to build up some data on how everything— Loki, other matter, other energy— functions when the god summons magic, and as Tony finally combs through the data his first day out of bed, he's glad he behested Jarvis because he's about to make Amora and Skurge and any other magic-wielding assholes' lives a living hell.

He cloisters himself in the workshop for the better part of a week slaving over what he describes to Bruce as his magical EMP. Occasionally he ventures upstairs for food, more coffee, or to laze around on the couch and watch Golden Girls with Thor and Steve. Sometimes he sleeps, but mostly he lives in his workshop and creates fun things he can't wait to try out.

He's in the zone when Jarvis' voice fills the workshop. "Sir, Ms. Potts has arrived and is on her way downstairs."

"What time is it?"

"Nearly six o'clock, sir."

Tony whistles through his teeth. The last time he checked the time, it was 4am. "I've been down here that long? God, I'm a machine."

Sixty seconds later, Tony hears the whir of the workshop doors opening. Pepper walks in, heels clicking against the concrete flooring. She stops next to his worktable and drops a large, leather binder on it, smiling tightly down at him.

"I needed these signed yesterday, Tony, but you've been avoiding my calls," she says.

"I was sick," he replies and pats the stool next to him.

Pepper sits, crossing one long, pale leg over the other. She follows his gaze and whacks his knee with her pen. "Don't you even think about it, Tony Stark."

"I didn't even do anything yet!" Tony says, words dissolving into laugher. "Give me the pen so I can get you out of here. I know you're a busy woman, Ms. Potts."

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." She opens the leather binder. There's a lot of paper in it. She looks very pleased.

Tony skims through the paperwork, signing where he needs to sign and initialing where he needs to initial. Pepper watches over his shoulder and points out when she would like him to actually read the fine print of a contract before he agrees to anything. It's comforting, in a way. He gives her a lot of grief, but Pepper's always been his best friend. He should have known better than to get involved with her romantically. He's a walking time bomb when it comes to relationships. They always self-destruct and he's usually the one to push the big red button.

It wasn't any different with Pepper, either. New York shredded him to pieces for a while, and he didn't take care of himself, didn't want to or dare to try. Instead, he drowned his problems in a bottle (or a lot of bottles, really) of expensive whiskey and locked himself in his workshop for days, forgoing food and sleep until he hallucinated. He didn't want to change, not even for Pepper. It was the straw that broke the horses back.

He can't blame her for walking away because he knows it was the best thing she could have done for both of them.

Things didn't change much, to his surprise. He never worried about relationships before her, never cared how things would be the morning after because he never stuck around for a morning after, but he was worried when he and Pepper decided to part romantic ways even though it ended amicably enough. He should never have worried. Pepper never let their romantic relationship affect their work relationship, anyway, because Pepper is perfect.

He's glad she walked away. He would have hated to break her.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," she says as Tony is nearing the end of the pile. "Dr. Banner said you were really sick. I wish you would have called. I could have come by."

"I was fine," Tony replies, hardly able to hold back his grin. "I had a fair-skinned, dark haired nurse to take care of me."

Pepper closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath as she pinches her nose bridge. "Please tell me you did not pay a hooker to come here while you were sick, Tony."

Tony barks out a laugh and accidentally scratches through one of his signatures. He clamps his lips closed when Pepper gives him the death glare from hell. "I did not. I really didn't. I swear. Cross my heart _and_ my robot heart."

"Then who?"

He watches her out of the corner of his eye, debates whether he should be honest, and then thinks, what the hell. "Loki."

Pepper's perfectly plucked eyebrows disappear under her bangs. "What?"

"We're buddies now. BFFs. What can I say. I sway even the coldest hearts with my sad eyes and great abs."

Pepper shakes her head. "You are going to get yourself killed one of these days, Tony."

Tony just grins and signs the last page. "Then it would be a normal day in the life of Tony Stark. All done."

She hits him with the pen once more before scooping up the binder and standing. "There are a few fundraisers I would really like you to make an appearance at. I'll send you the dates within the next day or two, and you _will _put them on your calendar." She looks up. "Jarvis, I am holding you responsible for that because I know this idiot won't do it."

"You can count on me, Ms. Potts," Jarvis replies.

Tony leans back in his chair, arms hanging limply at his sides, and groans. "Jarvis, you're killing me."

"Better him than me," Pepper says matter-of-factly. "I think he would be much nicer about it."

Before Tony can respond, the air in the center of the workshop trembles.

Pepper stumbles, eyes wide, and looks from the anomaly in the middle of the room to Tony and then back again. "Tony? What's going on?"

"Jarvis, what the hell is that?" Tony demands, standing up. He pushes Pepper back, towards the doors, and orders, "Go now. Get upstairs."

"You're going to just stay here?" she hisses, but she allows him to herd her away.

Tony grits his teeth as the air becomes more unstable, almost shimmering. "Jarvis, seriously, what do I pay you for? What is that? Alert Cap immediately."

There is silence, and then Jarvis replies, "Sir, you have a visitor arriving. The energy signature is Mr. Laufeyson's."

He doesn't realize until Jarvis says the name that the temperature of the workshop's dropped several degrees. His forearms are covered in goosebumps and the hair on the back of his neck is standing on end. He grits his teeth, still blocking Pepper, as the air finally tears open and a body pours through it. The hole closes quickly, and then everything is still again.

Loki doesn't move, his body splayed across the concrete like a rag doll. He's wearing his Asgardian leather without the gold-plated armor, and and it's stained with dark blood. His hair is tangled and matted with it, as well, sticking to the side of his pale face.

"Jarvis, I want his vitals now," Tony snaps and moves to the fallen god's side immediately, dropping to his knees as Jarvis speaks.

"Sir, Mr. Laufeyon's pulse is forty-seven beats per minute and his respiration is labored, but there are no signs of respiratory distress. Brain function appears normal. He has sustained injuries resulting in a significant amount of blood loss. Despite this, he appears stable."

Tony lets go of the breath he didn't know he was holding. "Jarvis, scratch that. No need to alert Steve."

"Yes, sir." There is silence, and then, "Shall I call for Dr. Banner or Mr. Odison?"

"No," Loki croaks, moving suddenly, jerkily. "I would not have them here. Only you, Stark."

Tony isn't sure he's ever heard the god sound so broken. It does crazy things to his heart and his stomach, twisting them painfully until he isn't sure they're in the right places anymore. He swallows the lump in his throat. He has no idea what's happening, but he thinks Loki's trusting him. Really trusting him.

"Pep, can you go?" Tony asks quietly, unable to look away from Loki.

"Are you kidding?" Her voice has risen a few decibels. "You should call for Captain Rogers, Tony. This is serio—"

"Pep," Tony says, and there's a warning behind it. "Please go and don't mention anything if you run into anyone upstairs on your way out."

"I hope you know what the hell you're doing, Tony," she whispers, voice trembling with fear and anger, and then her heels clatter against the floor. The door whirrs open, then closed, and then she's gone.

Tony wastes no time. He grabs Loki's chin gingerly and angles his head to the side. The god's eyes open slowly, heavy-lidded. His pupils are blown, irises a barely visible ring of dull green around them.

"Hey," he says. "Are you with me? What the hell happened, Loki?"

Loki doesn't answer, just stares at him, his lips pinched together so tightly they're turning white.

"Well, fine then," Tony mutters under his breath and starts tugging at leather straps and buckles. After a full minute with no progress, he snaps, "How the hell do you even get into this bullshit outfit?"

Loki raises a hand, just barely lifting it off of the ground. The weak, green glow around his fingers stutters, but when his arm drops and hits the concrete with a thud, the leather's gone, leaving Loki in a blood-soaked linen undershirt and calf-skin pants.

Tony rips the shirt open and can't help but blanch.

There's an oozing laceration splitting open the pale, perfect skin of the god's chest. It's a clean cut, but it's torn through muscle and tendons and ligaments. It starts at his right collarbone and extends across his mid-abdomen. Any normal person would probably be dead, innards spilt on the ground, but Loki's a god, and Tony's never been happier about it. He tugs the shirt off and uses it to staunch the bleeding. Loki's breath hisses through his teeth, chest rising and falling quickly, but his eyes don't leave Tony's face.

"I'm going to make an assumption," Tony says, surprised as the roughness of his voice. "I'm going to assume magic is out of the question and you can't heal right now."

Loki's lips curl into a snarl. "Your astute observations astound even me, Stark."

Tony grins, he can't help it, because he knows things will be fine as long as Loki can still insult him. "Stay here for a minute."

He finds his first aid kit, which he keeps well-stocked because he's had quite a few bloody mishaps in his workshop. Loki's head is turned away from him now. Tony doesn't say anything, just starts pulling things out of the kit.

"You going to tell me what happened?" he asks calmly.

Loki's jaw muscles jump as Tony removes the balled up, bloody shirt and begins wiping some of the blood away with a clean towel. "Perhaps if it were any of your business, but it is not."

"Really? Because you're lying on my workshop floor like roadkill. I could just leave you here. Or have one of the others deal with you. Thor would probably worship the ground I walked on if I let him in on this, you being so needly and all."

"You would not do so," Loki whispers fiercely.

Tony shrugs, unwilling to react to the way the god's voice hitches. "No. I wouldn't. I like you too much to let you bleed out."

"Bleed out," Loki scoffs.

"I'm not stitching you up," Tony says. "It needs stitches, but I only repair robots, not people."

"Sutures will not be necessary once my energy is restored. I will be able to heal myself shortly. Finish your feeble ministrations, Stark."

Tony snorts derisively. "Why do I even need to play nurse, then, if you're gonna just going to heal yourself. And feeble? Is this how you treat your savior?"

Loki grabs the front of Tony's t-shirt without warning and drags him down until their lips are almost touching. "What would you have me do?"

Tony wants to lean in the rest of the way, close the meager millimeters of distance between them. But he doesn't. He pulls back slightly, licks his lips. "Keep it in your pants, Aphrodite." Then he sighs dramatically. "God, I can't believe I'm the one saying that. There is a first time for everything."

Loki released his shirt, and Tony thinks there might be a quirk to his lips. It's gone before he's sure.

There is no more talking while Tony finishes cleaning the wound, slathers it with some ointment, and then gently presses a line of non-stick pads on top of it. Tony doesn't touch, but he can't help but notice the lattice of scars that decorate the god's torso. There are a few large ones he wants to trace with his tongue. Maybe later.

He helps Loki sit up, not missing the way the god clenches his teeth so tightly the veins in his neck bulge, and then cocoons his chest and abdomen in a thick gauze wrapping. Absently, he combs his fingers through the god's dark, wild hair, gently working out the tangles. It doesn't occur to him what he's doing until Loki leans in to the touch with an almost inaudible sigh. He's not looking at Tony— he's just staring off— but his features are more lax than they've been.

"Tell me what happened," he says, cupping the back of Loki's head and forcing him to make eye contact. "I get it, not my business, but seriously. You had me kind of worried. Not to mention that wasn't some of your best teleportation work."

Loki raises a brow, lips curling in a half-hearted sneer. "The Man of Iron, worried for his enemy?"

Tony groans. "Let's be honest here. You stopped being our enemy a while ago. I mean, you live in my house. Clint hasn't killed you. Cap let you eat pancakes."

"Have I?" Loki asks carefully and then places his bloodied hand on Tony's chest where the glow of the arc reactor weaves through his cotton shirt. "Am I no longer your enemy? Are you so sure, Tony Stark?"

Tony recalls the night Loki pressed his hand to the reactor for the first time, recalls the way it felt when the god's magic hummed in tune with the reactor's energy. That sensation affected him, made his breath hitch.

This touch is different. This is a threat, thinly veiled. Warning bells sound off in Tony's head. Something about the neutral expression on the god's face curls his innards into knots because he can't read it. Tony realizes he probably doesn't know a goddamned thing about the god. It pisses him off more than it should.

"So," he says casually, clearing his throat to erase the edge in it, "does that mean I'm aiding and abetting a criminal? Should I bust out the handcuffs? I can do handcuffs."

Loki's fingers curl, nails biting into skin through Tony's shirt. "You trust me much too easily, Stark," he says.

Tony's hand falls away from the god's hair and he sighs. "Are you planning to kill me? If so, can you let me know so I can give Cap and the others a head's up? It will make clean up easier."

Loki moves, slowly climbing to his knees until he's facing Tony. His eyes are a little brighter, skin not so pale, and that makes Tony's insides clench all the more when the god slides his hand from the reactor up to Tony's throat, thumb trailing along his windpipe. He wasn't kidding, Tony thinks, when he said he would heal fast.

The god cocks his head to the side. "I could kill you."

"That is true," Tony says without much feeling. "Will you?"

"I will not."

"Why?"

Loki pulls Tony towards him by the throat. "Is it not yet evident to you?"

Tony swallows. His pulse is going crazy from fear, but he's pretty sure he's never been so turned on in his life. "Has anyone ever talked to you before about mixed signals? 'Cause I'm kind of getting those—"

Loki kisses him, his other hand inching underneath Tony's shirt to find skin. Tony shivers from the chill, opening his mouth when Loki's tongue demands entrance. It's a rough kiss, bruising even, and when Loki licks along Tony's bottom lip and then bites down, dragging his teeth and sucking, Tony's heart pummels against his ribcage and his cock strains against the confines of his pants.

"You may touch me, Stark," Loki breathes, ducking his head to nip at Tony's neck.

"You're injured," Tony groans, tilting his head back to allow the god better access. His hands are fisted at his sides, and he's got his fingers curled so tightly the nails are biting into his palms. "I don't want to hurt you."

Loki laughs breathlessly against his skin. "Hurt me? You underestimate me. The wound heals already. Put your hands on me. I demand it."

"Well, if you demand it," Tony says mockingly, but he obliges. He starts with his fingertips on the god's knees and slowly inches up until his hands are flattened against Loki's mid thighs. He can feel the god's legs shaking ever so slightly. "You can call me Tony, you know. Should I demand that? I feel like we should be even on demands."

Loki tugs at the neck of Tony's shirt, exposing his collarbone, and draws his tongue along the dip, then doubles back with his teeth. "That would denote intimacy."

Tony presses the palm of one hand to Loki's groin. The god hisses out a breath and arches his hips forward into the pressure.

"This seems pretty intimate to me," Tony replies huskily.

"Would it please you?" Loki murmurs, working his way up to nibble on Tony's earlobe. "For me to call you by your first name."

"Well, sure." Tony slides his hands around to Loki's back, following the contour of sharp shoulder blades before gently drawing them over the gauze wrapping. Then he reaches down and grabs the god's ass, hauling him forward so that Loki is straddling one of Tony's knees. "Bending you over my worktable and fucking you silly would please me more, though. Just saying."

He has the pleasure of hearing Loki's breath hitch.

Loki's still pale, and there's still blood in his hair and smeared randomly across his sinewy body, and Tony knows it's a bad idea. He knows he should put a stop to it now. But when Loki tears his shirt open like it's nothing, bends down so his back arches beautifully as he trails cold, biting kisses along the scarred skin surrounding the arc reactor, and whispers, "ask and you shall receive," adding a thoughtful "Tony" afterwards, Tony knows there's no way in hell anything could stop him now.

Within two minutes, he's got the god completely naked and on his feet. Loki's hands are at his belt, deftly undoing the buckle and the button of his jeans.

"I don't have lube down here," Tony groans as Loki bites down on a nipple, then soothes it with his tongue.

"Shall I prepare you, then?" Loki murmurs.

"Prepare me?" Tony repeats, but before he has any idea what to expect, the god is on his knees and swallowing Tony to the hilt.

"Holy shit." His fingers tangle in the god's hair and he pulls, forcing himself not to thrust forward. "You— what are you doing?"

Loki's response is to suck as he pulls back, his tongue pressing against the underside of Tony's cock.

Tony can't really speak because his voice is lodged somewhere in his throat, so he watches Loki's head instead as it bobs back and forth. His mouth is insanely hot, but his lips are still cool, and the warring sensations are driving him insane. When the god looks up and makes eye contact, Tony has to shove him away before he comes embarrassingly fast.

"I do not think this is your reputation proceeding you," Loki says with a smirk. "Such haste."

Tony hoists him up, turns him around so Loki's hands are pressed against the workable, and curves his body against Loki's back, cock slotted between his ass cheeks. His skin is so deliciously cold against Tony's overheated body that he shivers. He reaches around as he grinds against the god and takes hold of his cock, trailing his thumb along the slit and slicking precum down the length. The sounds coming from Loki's mouth vary between whimpers, gasps, and feral growls as he thrusts into Tony's hand.

"I grow impatient," he finally snarls.

"Now who's being hasty," Tony laughs, kissing a line from Loki's ear to his shoulder.

Loki responds by spitting on his own hand, reaching back to coat Tony's length and then pushing himself back onto it with a strangled gasp that dissolves into a throaty moan.

"Holy fuck," Tony hisses, both hands flying to Loki's hips. He grips so tightly he's sure the god's going to bruise, but he can't help himself. Loki is tight, insanely tight, and Tony has to use every ounce of self control he has left, which isn't much, not to lose himself.

"Tony," the god growls.

He never prided himself for his self control, so he pulls out and then thrusts back into Loki.

It all goes downhill from there, a frantic pace and mix of nails, teeth, and almost violent hands. Tony tries to avoid the area covered by the gauze, but he can't find it in himself to care where he's touching when he hits Loki's prostate and the god's long, thin fingers dig into the worktable so hard that the wood splinters beneath his nails.

When Tony's close, he grips Loki's cock again and pumps until the god is arching against him, come slicking Tony's hand. The way Loki straightens afterward, pressing the length of his body back against Tony like he's seeking warmth, is really what sends Tony over the edge. He grabs a fistful of Loki's hair and forces his head to the side so he can moan into his lips as he loses himself.

He's breathing heavily, his cheek pressed against the back of Loki's neck and his arms loosely looped around the god's waist, when the blackness washes over him. He's already lightheaded, and he stumbles when they're back on solid ground. Tony straightens, looked around dazedly. He doesn't recognize where he is, but it's obviously someone's bedroom. Aside from a few pieces of forgettable furniture and a four-poster bed covered in neutral sheets that are an indistinguishable color in the dim light, the room is ordinary and barely lived in.

"My chambers," Loki murmurs, leaned back against Tony as he yawns.

Tony nods and swallows. He feels nervous suddenly, and that just pisses him off. "Your magic is back?"

Loki grunts and disentangles himself from Tony's arms. "It was barely enough to bring us here," he says, voice groggy. "I must rest."

Loki makes his way to the bed, swaying like a cat as he walks, and crawls in without a care. He's already under the covers, face shadowed, but Tony can see the way his expression hardens when he realizes that Tony is still standing in the middle of the room.

"You do not have to join me," he says stonily.

Tony knows he needs to tread lightly. They're at the edge of a cliff, and Tony's always the one to push things over the edge in the worst possible way. He's stunned, though, because he wasn't expecting this. He wasn't expecting this kind of trust or whatever else is bending Loki towards him. Falling asleep in a chair is one thing, but the god is injured, naked, and drowsy, and if that isn't vulnerability, Tony doesn't know what is.

Loki stares at him expectantly, his expression souring by the second, so Tony smiles gently, taking a step forward. "I didn't know if you, I don't know, actually wanted me here. I mean, to sleep. With you." Definitely knocking it out of the park, Stark, he thinks.

"I would not have wasted precious energy if I did not," the god snaps, eyes flashing in the low light.

Tony doesn't let himself think about the morning after because deep down, he wants this. He wants to pull the God of Mischief into his arms and fall asleep with him there, and he doesn't care if he's still covered in dried blood or the stickiness of good sex. Tony walks to the unoccupied side of the bed, sliding in under the covers.

"Do not speak," Loki orders, turning towards him. "I am loathe to listen to you rant at such a time."

Tony actually laughs. It's doused quickly when Loki reaches out and slowly pulls the blanket down. The light of Tony's arc reactor casts ghostly shadows across his face. Tony's pulse kicks up again.

"Why?" he asks quietly.

"Why, indeed?" Loki murmurs and leans against the pillows.

He's asleep within a few minutes, one hand pressed over the light of the reactor, and Tony wonders why this feels so right before he passes out, too.


	4. Betrayal

Tony wakes when it's still dark, and he's slightly confused because these are definitely not his Egyptian cotton sheets. He sits up, tugging down the blanket to allow the arc reactor to light the room for him, and looks around. It takes him a moment, but it comes back to him in a rush that makes his heart palpitate. No, this is definitely not his room. It's Loki's, and Tony is naked and alone in his bed.

"I did not think you would wake so soon."

Tony starts as Loki appears, already dressed in his Asgardian leathers. He looks like a specter, glowing blue from the light of the arc reactor. Tony can't really read the expression on his face. That makes him nervous.

"I don't really sleep much," he replies, as casually as he can.

"I see."

They remain silent for several moments, just staring at one and other, and Tony is beginning to regret allowing himself to give in when Loki makes his way to Tony's side of the bed. He perches on the end of the mattress, head tilted and dark hair spilling over one shoulder. The metallic smell of blood is gone, replaced by the clean scent of soap, and from what Tony can tell in the meager blue light, he isn't as pale and his eyes are bright.

"Did you heal yourself?" Tony asks, eyes traveling from the god's face to his abdomen.

Loki's lips curl into a devilish smile and he nods. "I did. Thank you for your— what did you call it? Vigilant nursing, I believe, are the words you used."

Tony snorts. "Did you just make a sex joke?"

Loki raises a brow. "Perhaps," he murmurs.

The second silence that settles is much more comfortable. Tony feels brave, so he reaches out to tuck a lock of hair behind the god's ear, allowing his fingers to linger. Loki's eyes close briefly, his jaw clenching and the pulse in his neck jumping, and Tony is startled by the strained expression that settles there.

"What's wrong?" he asks. "Are you regretting this? Because let me tell you, no one's ever regretted sex with me before, so if you are, I'm going to need to see a therapist."

Loki laughs humorlessly. "She is almost here. Your computer will alert the Avengers momentarily of her presence."

Tony blinks. "Who?"

Loki licks his lips. "Amora. I am sorry, Stark. If you do not regret this coupling now, you very well may in the hours to come."

Tony's stomach bottoms out.

Loki stands, turns away, and he's almost out of reach when Tony finally snaps out of the shock and grabs his wrist, yanking him back roughly. The god doesn't try to turn away, but he looks resigned, tired, and Tony has never seen a scarier expression on Loki's face.

"What the hell are you apologizing for?" Tony demands. His heart beats wildly in his chest, so wildly it hurts. "What did you do?"

Loki's lips curl back in a snarl. "I cannot speak of it because of the wretch's—" He stops speaking and then cringes, face contorting in pain.

Tony's eyes widen as he watches the latticework of green light crawl across the god's neck before Loki hisses and covers it with his hand. His pupils are pinpricks despite the lack of light in the room, and his eyes are practically glowing. Tony stands as Loki stumbles back, not caring that he's naked, and tears Loki's hand away so he can see the trail of green leeching through the god's circulatory system.

"What the hell is this, Loki?" he whispers.

Loki just shakes his head, and after a few moments, the light fades, leaving his skin pale and unmarred once again. Loki exhales like he's been holding his breath. He keeps a hold of Tony's hand, interlocking their fingers, and as his breathing slows, they're inhaled by the blackness.

Tony stumbles backwards into his dresser when they land, hip colliding with a corner. It's even darker in his room with the specialized curtains he had made to accommodate his odd sleep schedule, but he can feel Loki's cold hand still gripping his. He needs to see his face, he realizes, and snaps, "Jarvis, lights. Dim, please."

Jarvis doesn't say anything, knows well enough, even though he's just a computer, not to say anything when Tony uses that voice, but the bedside lamp flickers on. Tony doesn't have a chance to adjust to the flush of light before the god crowds his space, his leather tunic sticking to Tony's bare skin. Loki's lips are on his a moment later, frantic and seeking, and his free hand caresses up until his fingers spread across the arc reactor.

The kiss feels oddly final to Tony. He doesn't like it. He doesn't know why he doesn't like it, or why his heart feels like it's crawled into his throat. He's starting to freak out a little bit. He's surprised at how gravelly his voice sounds but then again he isn't, because he's really starting to freak out. "Tell me what's going on."

"When she arrives," Loki murmurs against his lips, "use your device. Shut her down."

Tony pulls back slightly, both eyebrows shooting up. "How do you even know about the device? You haven't been around the last week."

A ghost of Loki's aggravating smile tugs at his lips. "You may sleep very little, but I sleep even less."

"Did you sneak into my workshop?" Tony asks. He isn't sure whether to be impressed or pissed. He settles on a mixture of both. "That is like a relationship 101 no no. You don't see me checking your email or your text messages."

"When will it penetrate your thick, Midgardian skull that your references are beyond me?" Loki whispers, eyes over bright. He takes a step back, then another, until there's a foot of space between them, except Loki still hasn't let go of Tony's hand.

Tony knows that once he lets go, something's going to break. He licks his lips. "You're not going to tell me?"

Loki grits his teeth together. "I quite literally cannot, Stark."

"Stark, huh? Back to that." He sighs. "How soon until she's here?"

As if on cue, the alarm blares, and Jarvis states, "We have an intruder, sir. The Avengers are being notified and lockdown is being initiated."

Loki lets go of his hand and Tony stands there, naked and cold, and watches the red alarm lights set Loki's skin on fire.

"Set off the device, Tony," Loki states. And then he's gone.

Tony doesn't move for several seconds, clenching and unclenching his fists. His mind is rushing to the worst possible scenarios, and "how did he know she was coming?" repeats like a mantra in his head. Because if Loki played him, if he played all of them, Tony isn't sure he's ever going to be able to forgive the god.

Or himself for being so careless.

With a curse, he pulls on a pair of track pants and a t-shirt before he leaves his room at a run.

"Jarv," he yells over the blare of the alarm, "I want the elevator operational for Avenger signatures only, and get it to my floor right fucking now."

"Already on it, sir," Jarvis replies.

"Where is everyone else?"

"Mr. Odinson is already en route to the roof, sir, following up on the threat emitting Asgardian Amora's energy signature."

"What the hell is it with these Asgardians and my roof?" Tony snarls. "What about the others?"

"Captain Rogers, Dr. Banner, and Agents Barton and Romanoff are on the ground floor, sir. Skurge has broken through the lobby doors."

The elevator door is open when Tony arrives and he skids to a stop, slamming into the back panel as it closes behind him. Tony presses his palms against the walls to steady himself as it plunges down the elevator shaft, more quickly than normal because Jarvis is a peach, and Tony takes off the moment the doors start to open.

"Jarvis, prepare Mark XXIII on the pedestal now."

"Yes, sir."

He's barely on the glowing surface before the familiar gold and red metal is unfolding up his body. He keeps the faceplate open. He wants to see the bitch's face for himself when he sets off his newest project because this feels personal, and Tony is always a spoilt sport.

"Jarvis, for shits and giggles, give me the chance of success for the magical EMP."

"I cannot say, sir, since no diagnostic testing was performed."

"I'm firing you when all of this is done."

"I anticipate a very substantial severance package, sir."

Tony snorts as he makes his way over to his worktable. A few things are knocked over and there are dents in the wood where Loki held tight, but the device, a small cylinder with a red button on top, sits in its protective case, untouched. Tony swallows the lump in his throat and grabs it.

Yeah, it's personal.

When he finally makes his way up to the roof, the sky is a tumultuous mass of gray clouds, backlit by the barely risen sun, as Thor swings his hammer. The Thunderer stands on the opposite side of the roof as Amora. Lightning sparks around Mjolnir and the wind slams through the air. Tony uses his repulsors to steady himself. Amora just grins, her blond hair and green dress whipping around her.

"Amora, you will stop this," Thor calls. "Whatever this game you are playing, it must end."

"There is no game, Son of Odin," she replies. "I would have the Trickster. He has tried my patience, and I would finish the job my Executioner started."

"Motherfucker," Tony mutters. The insanely clean cut down Loki's abdomen makes sense now. Oh, yeah, definitely personal.

Thor blinks, confused, but the look quickly morphs to an overprotective glare Tony's seen many times before. "Loki is not here," Thor booms. "Is this why you have terrorized Midgard? In an attempt to coalesce my brother? He is no longer of that constitution, Amora. He has changed."

Amora laughs, high pitched and grating, and doesn't stop until a loud crack of thunder roars. Her eyes shine unnaturally brightly as she studies Thor with glee. "He has not told you, then, how he came to Midgard?"

Tony's pretty sure his stomach relocates to his feet, and Thor looks about as pleased. His eyes narrow, but the hammer swinging above his head loses speed. "What is this you speak of?"

"Why am I not surprised?" she says, sighing dramatically, though she still grins. "He is the Liesmith, through and through."

"Tell me!" Thor bellows, and the roof shakes.

Amora bites her bottom lip coyly, struggling against the grin that finally breaks across her face. "The Trickster promised me information in exchange for safe passage out of Asgard." She laughs again, shaking her head like she's just heard a good joke.

Tony wants to repulsor-blast the look off of her face. He doesn't, though, because he really wants to know what the hell is going on, and Amora seems to be in a chatty mood.

"Heimdall was not fooled, you see," she continues. "Even Loki cannot hide from the the all-seeing watcher, not entirely, and though you snatched him from his cell and spouted tales of his bravery, he is still a wanted criminal."

The look on Thor's face rivals the expression he wore when he told the Avengers of his brother's death, except this time the grief and anger are mixed with something that looks like betrayal. "What information did he promise you?"

"It is none of your concern," Amora purrs.

The lightning crackling off of Mjolnir is bright white and becoming wilder by the second, reaching for Amora. Thor grips the handle tighter. "Is it not? I would think differently, as you come here and demand him of me."

"He has no loyalty to you," she sneers, her pretty lips curling. Tony doesn't like the way her eyes flash. She's got a similar aura to Loki misting around her, glowing a faint green. "He has betrayed your secrets, Son of Odin."

Thor's nostrils flare and he takes a step towards the Enchantress. "He would not."

Amora shrugs delicately, flipping tangled ringlets of hair behind her shoulder. "Maybe not," she agrees, "but I am well versed in your brother's ploys. I made it so he would have no choice."

"No choice? Explain yourself."

Thor is too much talk, and Tony just wants to shoot her. So badly. He unclenches his fist and feels the energy of the palm repulsor firing up.

Amora licks her lips, smile back in place. "Loki Liesmith is broken. He is destroyed by anger. It eats him alive." She holds up her hand, flexing her fingers, and watches the verdant magic swirl around them. "Powerful he may be as a sorcerer, but all men such as he are weak enough for their hearts to be swayed to my persuasion. I merely instilled in him the need to divulge to me what I was promised, and prohibited him from speaking of it."

"Well, Tony says to himself, "that explains a lot of things." It starts to eat at him, but he can't pinpoint it yet, what is it that's nagging. He finally turns on his comm. He ignores what the others say and speaks over them. "Guys, what is with super villains always just spilling their plans?"

"Nice of you to join in," Clint grunts.

"Tony, we talked about the comms," Steve says.

"I'll take detention later," Tony replies. "I'm about ready to shoot her in the face, though. This is the worst monologue ever."

If they reply, Tony doesn't hear it. All he hears in the silky voice whisper in his ear, "The device, Tony."

Tony switches his comm off, because he does not want them to know, and all but pirouettes in the air, turning to find himself facing Loki. "You son of a bitch," Tony grinds out.

"I need you to use the device," Loki states. "I need it for—" He grits his teeth and makes a gesture towards his chest.

Tony's fury is barely leashed. He tries to swallow it down. He isn't sure who he's mad at anymore. "It will short circuit you, too, idiot."

"Then I hope that you incite its function in the next ten seconds while I visit elsewhere," Loki says with a shark-like grin. "Take care, Man of Iron. Mjolnir will be none too pleased with your toy."

Tony's about to punch him with his metal-encased fist, but the god vanishes.

"These fucking Asgardians," he hisses to no on in particular and presses the big red button on the cylinder.

For two very long seconds, nothing happens. Tony's about to toss the piece of junk metal down, not caring if it impales a civilian's head, but then he feels the build up, feels a change in the atmosphere. Without warning, the air caves in on itself before expanding out like a tsunami.

Amora turns towards the rush of energy seconds before it engulfs her. She screeches, loud and high, before falling to her knees, clutching at her chest. The magic aura flickers and dies like a snuffed out candle. Thor's face pales as the storm clouds falter in theit swirling trajectory, and then he falls to his knees, too, cradling Mjolnir to his chest.

"Well, shit," Tony says, and turns on his comms again. "How are you guys doing?"

"What the fuck was that?" Clint exclaims.

"Oh, just my genius," Tony replies smugly.

"Skurge is down," Natasha says. "How long?"

Tony purses his lips together. "I have absolutely no idea."

Steve's voice is stony. "Stark, I need a report."

"Well, I've got Amora and Thor on their knees. I'm going to admit that this isn't a sexual fantasy I've ever considered, but now that it's happening—"

"Are you really doing this right now?" Steve asks in his best disappointed father voice.

"I think I deserve a— holy fucking shit."

The others' voices are blaring in his ear, Steve still demanding a report, but all Tony can do is stare at Loki. He is standing above Amora, his fingers wrapped tightly around her thin, pale neck. The pure, unhinged fury contorting his features doesn't look like the Loki who sat at Tony's bedside when he was sick or the Loki who's face softened when he discovered the shrapnel in Tony's chest. He isn't the Loki who's been living with them for six months, slowly worming his way into their lives.

Tony can't blame the fury. He understands it all too well. He remembers what it felt like, being played by the man who was more father to him than his own father. The stab of Obie's betrayal nearly broke him, and he still finds emotional splinters here and there, splinters that he'll never be able to rip out. Maybe it's not the same between Loki and Amora, but betrayal is betrayal.

And that's why Tony can't forgive it. The realization hits him like a punch to the gut. Loki knew what was happening even though the magic prevented him from speaking of it. He still followed Tony around his goddamned workshop, still allowed Fury to appoint him as a consultant to the Avengers, still allowed them to brief him on classified information.

He allowed Tony to sleep in his bed, and for fuck's sake, Tony didn't even regret it in the morning. He knew it was going to blow up in their faces, but Tony never considered that he would actually get hurt in the process.

The fact that it hurts makes him want to drink an entire bottle of whiskey as quickly as possible. All in due time. He doubts this is going to go well.

Amora's eyes are bulging now and she's gasping for breath, clawing at Loki's wrists, because her superhuman strength is nothing compared to his, not when there's still magic burning in his eyes.

"I should kill you," he snarls. "How dare you play these games with me."

"Loki, do not," Thor calls as he stands. He still holds Mjolnir to his chest, but the clouds have started to move again. "Her life is not worth sullying the changes you have made."

"Changes?" Loki throws Amora down so hard the concrete beneath her cracks and whirls around to face Thor. "You are so pitiful, brother, to think one such as myself as changed."

Thor doesn't back down. "But you have changed. I have seen it. You are not so skilled to have faked such happiness."

Loki flinches at that, teeth bared and grinding together.

Tony watches them face off, the others still screaming over the comm, and knows what he's going do to. He's angry. He knows how vulnerable Loki is without his magic. He saw it last night before he bent the god over his worktable.

And he can take it away.

"Jarvis, now that you've seen it in action, how much juice do you think this baby has left?"

"According to my calculations, there is another pulse available, but it will only function at a maximum of twenty-six percent capacity."

"Perfect," Tony whispers, then presses the red button.

Amora flattens herself to the rooftop, fingers clawing into the concrete when the pulse reaches her, and Thor stumbles, craning his head to stare at Tony, but it's Loki who is most affected. The pulse drags him back several feet. He remains standing, but Tony sees something in him fall, sees it crumble, as his pale skins melts away to the deepest blue Tony has ever seen and his eyes flare red. He stares at Tony with an expression of pained surprised that Tony didn't know the God of Lies and Mischief could sport.

He's literally used a red button, old-school villain style, to shatter a relationship that just barely began. The irony rips a strangled laugh from his throat.

The second pulse is definitely not as strong as the first. The wind picks up speed within fifteen seconds and soon the clouds are seething and building speed. Loki's skin reverts back slowly. His eyes are the last to change back, and he stares at Tony until they are green again. His jaw works, the muscles twitching, and Tony thinks he's going to say something— he hopes he will, just to break the horrible silence that's settled— but he doesn't.

He just vanishes.

Thor looks so distraught Tony has to turn away. He feels the same, maybe worse, and he just can't deal with anyone else's disappointment right then.

The rest of the morning rushes by in a blur. Thor suddenly has these bands, magical metal bands that dampen magic from Asgard, similar to the muzzle Loki left Earth wearing after his failed invasion. Tony wants to ask why the Thunderer didn't think to use them immediately, instead of letting Amora blather on, but he doesn't really care, just watches with an odd sense of numbness as Thor slaps them on Amora's wrists.

She looks positively pissed. He flicks her off and offers her his winning PR smile when she glares at him.

When things are settled on the roof, Tony flies down to the ground level. Skurge is barely moving by the time the Hulk's finished with him, and once his matching bracelets are in place, Natasha punches him in the face hard enough for a bruise to blossom.

The villains are locked in SHIELD cells to await transport back to Asgard. The debrief goes the same way it normally does and ends with Steve lecturing Tony in the hall for never communicating properly. Tony nods, takes it, and doesn't miss the flash of concern on the Captain's face when there's no lip given back.

The others loiter, like they always do when Tony gets yelled at. Clint looks puzzled. Natasha looks concerned, and Tony just can't deal with it because he's pretty sure Natasha, with her feminine wiles, has ideas that he hasn't even begun to ruminate on.

"Tony, are you all right?" Bruce asks, brows draw together. "You don't seem all right."

Tony swallows the lump in his throat and manages a smile. "Jarvis says my vitals are normal and that I can still procreate, so we're all good." The smile turns a bit real when they all roll their eyes. "I think I just need to sleep."

He starts to leave and almost walks into Thor when the god blocks his path with his big blue eyes and an even bigger frown.

"Tony Stark," he says. "You and my brother—"

Tony holds up a hand and shakes his head. "Not now," he says quietly. His voice doesn't sound like his own. "Or ever, for that matter. Let's never talk about it."

Thor stares down at him, his expression almost unreadable, but then he moves. Tony leaves. They don't follow.

When Tony gets to rooftop bar, the same bar where he offered a certain God of Mischief a drink and then flew out the window, he pours himself a glass of whiskey. And then another. And then another.

By noon, he's good and drunk, really drunk. He thinks he'll stay that way for a while.


	5. Up in the Air

When he crawls back to consciousness, Natasha is in his room, leaning against his dresser. She looks down at him as he blinks whiskey-induced, black-out sleep from his eyes. Blinking makes his head pound. He sits up and feels worse, but he doesn't think he can lay down again because he's not in his bed, and his floor isn't that comfortable. At least he's wearing pants. Not that Natasha hasn't seen him without pants before. It's his house. They've all seen him without pants at one point.

"I think three days of being continuously hammered is probably enough," she says, pursing her lips in a decidedly Steve-esque look of disappointment, and holds out a mug, waggling it a bit like she would a treat to a dog.

It takes him a moment to realize the room smells like coffee. When he does, the waggling works. He holds out his hand and grabs at the air. "Gimme. Please."

"Steve is really worried," she replies. "You didn't show up for pancakes this morning."

"Today's Friday?" Tony asks blearily and struggles to his feet. The room is like a tilt-a-whirl, but he manages to steady himself against the bedpost. He's somewhat upset that he missed pancakes, but he doesn't think he could eat them right now, and throwing up Captain America's pancakes would be sacrilegious. "Please give me the coffee. I'll do anything."

She holds the mug close to her chest and raises a brow. "For a price."

Tony groans. "What price?"

Natasha cocks her head to the side. "Should we talk about what's going on with you?"

No, Tony thinks. He doesn't want to talk about it. He hasn't had much of a chance to really process it in his drunken state, anyway, so he isn't sure what he can shed light on. Instead, because he hates himself, he says, "Are you giving me a choice?"

She shrugs delicately.

Tony huffs. "What are we talking about, then? Newest fashions? Boys? Should I break out the nail polish? You're not in your sleepover clothes, which totally isn't fair."

Tony knows immediately that he's walked into a trap by the way Natasha's eyes glint. She doesn't need to smile. He can see the predatory glee at his folly clearly enough.

"Yes, let's talk about boys," she says and bites briefly, thoughtfully, at her bottom lip. "He hasn't come back, either, you know. Thor has no idea where he is, and Coulson is pissed that he's off the grid. He was at least giving us notice before. So, tell me, what really happened on the roof?"

"Are you asking as a friend, or are you asking as a SHIELD puppet?" Tony deadpans.

Natasha snorts. "A little bit of both, but mostly as a friend. I haven't seen you lose yourself in the bottle this badly since… well." She gives a noncommittal wave of her hand. She knows better than to bring up his massive failure with Pepper.

Tony grins nastily. "Are we friends? Friends trust each other."

"I trust you enough," she says seriously. "As much as I can trust someone unpredictable like you."

Tony considers it, then nods. "I can't fault that. Feeling's mutual."

Her lip quirks, just barely. "So, are you going to tell me what really happened on the roof?"

Tony sits on the bed and runs a hand over his face and through his hair. "I turned him into a smurf with my super awesome magic EMP, and I don't think he was too pleased by it."

"We both know that's not it, not entirely," Natasha says, almost sympathetically, and walks over to him with the mug extended.

He takes it and gulps several mouthfuls of coffee, happy to wash the stale taste of day-old whiskey from his mouth. He looks up at her closed-off face and sighs. No reason to lie now. The Widow could pull truths from the God of Lies. Tony is too hungover to function at that standard. "Things kind of… started. Between us."

She nods, once, expression not budging. "I figured as much. I can tell the difference between manic bonding and flirting."

Tony can't help but snort. "Did everyone figure it out, or are you the only perceptive one?" His eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up. "Does _Steve_ know? If Steve's figured it out, I might be impressed, or I might throw myself off the roof because I really don't want to have that conversation with the golden boy."

She looks like she might smile again, but it's fleeting. "Things started. And?"

Tony stares into his mug. "And they ended. Very fast, as per the normal Tony Stark relationship guidelines."

"Was it more than just sex?"

He can't help the start the blunt question evicts from him. He almost spills coffee on himself. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You always go all in," Natasha says, like that explains it.

And Tony tries not to fidget, because it does, it does explain it. He doesn't blame Loki for forging an alliance to get to safety— he'd have done the same thing— and he doesn't doubt that the god would have played Amora like a violin if she hadn't played him first. But everything after, everything involving him and the Avengers and SHIELD, is a clusterfuck. They took him on, even after he tried to kill them all, and with time, they stopped seeing him as an enemy.

And Tony started seeing him as something more.

The self-admission makes his chest tighten. Natasha is right, he always goes all in, and it makes sense that what started out as flirting and lust began fermenting very quickly into something more. He doesn't know how to coast. It's why he has fast cars, and quick fucks, and flashy suits: he only knows how to speed forward.

And then Amora's soliloquy hit the breaks and sent Tony spinning out of control. Even if Loki didn't plan to feed the blond bimbo any information, even if he had developed some loyalty to the Avengers, he loitered around for months after his arrival, all the while knowing he was magically programmed to tell her everything.

Too much is up in the air, and the only person who can answer his questions is gone because Tony, sparked by rage and a stab of betrayal, decided to strip the God of Mischief like he stripped Tony Stark, except it was never a fair fight. Loki pressed a hand to his chest and saw through him, saw what made him tick. It was intimate. It was the spark of something, because he thinks Loki, all lies and masks and tricks, is the same. He wants speed, and a challenge, and raw passion.

Tony didn't give him any of that on the roof. He just shredded Loki's Aesir disguise and left him raw and bleeding.

He feels like a dick, and he hates himself a little bit more than usual.

Natasha must see the way he's crumbling under the weight of it all, because she pushes away from the bedpost and pats his shoulder. "Take a shower. You smell like a dive bar."

He flicks her off. "Thanks for the coffee, master assassin."

Her stoic facade breaks and she smiles at him, all teeth and dimples. It makes Tony a little nervous, because he thinks this might be the face Natasha offers before she slits someone's throat or terrorizes Clint, but she leaves without throwing any knives in his direction.

When she's gone, Tony says, "Jarvis, is Thor still in the tower?"

"Yes, sir. According to SHIELD intel, he will be departing for Asgard at oh-six-hundred tomorrow morning with the prisoners Amora the Enchantress and Skurge the Executioner in tow."

"Tell him to meet me at the rooftop bar in an hour."

* * *

Tony feels more human after a shower, three more cups of coffee, and a blueberry muffin labeled with Clint's initials. He makes his way upstairs and settles at the bar, itching for a drink but ignoring the nagging desire even though he thinks this conversation would probably be easier with a few shots to dull his nerves.

Thor's footsteps are unmistakable, as loud and thunderous as the rest of him. Tony turns on the stool to offer the God of Thunder a toothy smile. Thor returns it, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It's odd to him, how Thor looks so much older when he smiles, but his liar of a brother seems ageless when his lips spread in a grin.

Tony ignores the tug behind his reactor.

"Tony Stark, I am glad to see you more yourself," Thor says, clasping Tony's hand in a bone-bending grip.

Tony's smile strains and he tugs at his hand, trying to get it back before Thor crushes his livelihood. "You obviously don't know me very well if you think being drunk out of my mind is somehow quintessentially not me."

"I know you are fond of drink," Thor states seriously, "but it has not been often as of late that you indulge to such a point."

"Touché," Tony says with a shrug and gestures to the stool next to him. "Sit. Do you want anything?"

"I thank you, but no." Thor settles heavily onto the stool and rests his elbows on his knees, leaning forward until he's slightly too close to Tony. He stares Tony in the eye. "Tell me, Tony Stark, what has befallen you and my brother."

Tony huffs out a breathy laugh. "Right to the point, huh? Can't we dance around it a bit? A little tango, maybe a waltz?"

Thor's forehead creases. "Is it not why you have asked to speak with me? To discuss my brother? You said you did not wish to, that morning on the roof, but I believe otherwise."

Tony swallows and forces his snark aside. It doesn't work well on Thor. "Natasha says you don't know where he's gone."

"I do not," Thor replies, expression darkening. "I have heard naught from him since Amora's appearance and capture."

Tony clears his throat. "How can I find him?"

Thor looks mildly bewildered by that. Tony gets the feeling he's been asked that question a lot back home, but probably not with the same gravelly tone. Thor stares at him for almost half a minute before he finally shakes his head. "I do not know. I have never been adept at locating my brother, especially when he does not wish to be found. He is much more skilled than I in the art of deception and travel through the realms. It was no surprise that I could not sense him, when I thought him dead though he was not."

Tony bites back the sigh that threatens to escape and absently drums his fingers against the arc reactor, muttering, "Well, shit."

"Why did you prevent him from taking vengeance upon Amora?" Thor questions. "I am gladdened by your decision to do so, as I would not see Loki commit murder, even if it is deserved."

Tony turns away from Thor slightly, so he can lean back against the bar. He stares out the window, the replacement of the one he was thrown through years earlier. "I didn't do it to stop him from killing her," he admits. "Maybe I did, a little, but it's not the real reason. Honestly, I used the pulse because I wanted to piss him off."

He doesn't have to look at Thor to know the god has stiffened. He can sense it in the air, can almost feel the spark of electricity hum again his still and tug at his hair. He isn't sure if the thick layer of clouds outside are darkening, but he thinks they are. Thor's going to call Mjolnir to him and bash Tony's skull in if he doesn't tread carefully.

"I regret it," he says quietly. "Kind of. I think someone needed to take him down a notch—I saw that look on his face, the one he gets before he loses it—but I was a little emotional. Maybe it was my time of the month." He looks at Thor out of the corner of his eye. "Also, I didn't know he would change colors. Why did he turn blue?"

Thor's voice is low and strained. "He is Aesir by name, but Jotun by blood. I have mentioned that he is adopted."

"He's mentioned that word before. Jotun. What does it mean?"

"Giant. He is a frost giant of Jotunheim. They are creatures of ice and darkness."

Tony closes his eyes and presses his knuckles against his eyelids until he sees stars. He remembers the night in his bedroom, when Loki sneered something about disgrace relating to his heritage. He thinks about all the times his contempt rose to the surface when Thor called him "brother." If Loki has any baggage, Tony is pretty sure that's it, and he managed to just rip it open and let it all fall out. "Yup. Definitely pissed him off, then."

"Testy," Thor scoffs angrily. "Why did you do such a thing out of anger?"

"He stayed here even though he was compromised," Tony states, finally turning towards Thor again. "Doesn't that bother you?"

Thor looks completely nonplussed. "Loki is many things, but compromised is not one of them. Even if he were imbued by Amora's magic, he would play her game his own way. I trust he would be even more determined to ruin her. Loki has never played fair, and he does not lay down for a fight even if he has been bested in the beginning."

Tony shakes his head. "I can't trust it. I showed him a lot of tech that could do a lot of bad things if it gets into the wrong hands. He knows the layout of our goddamned headquarters. He had access to Jarvis and classified information."

Thor blinks and tilts his head, staring at Tony like he's the dumbest person he's ever met. "Had he given the Enchantress any information, Tony Stark, she hardly would have come searching for him."

Tony doesn't like caves, for obvious reasons, but he would crawl into one at the moment if it was available for rent. He feels a cold sweat prickle the back of his neck and his forehead.

"You did not think of such a thing?" Thor ventures.

If there was a wound, and salt, and maybe some hydrochloric acid, Tony would have that wound and Thor would be rubbing all of it in with his gigantic hands. "Okay, I know it must be nice for you to be the smartest person in the room for once, but come on."

Thor just raises an eyebrow. "It is not like you to overlook such important points." The god pauses, and then asks, gently, "Has something more befallen you and my brother, Tony Stark?"

Tony twitches. He's pretty sure a few parts of his brain just spontaneously combusted.

Thor claps a hand on Tony's shoulder so roughly he almost topples off the stool, but he manages to catch himself on the edge of the bar. He turns to the Thunderer, who is staring down at him with a small smile.

"You do not need to say any more," Thor says. "I trust I do not need to know the details of your relationship with my brother, though I can very well judge them by your perception of Loki's actions."

"I'm not asking for your permission to take him to prom," Tony starts, but Thor's fingers tighten on his shoulder, so he shuts up.

"I saw evidence of it in him, before the Enchantress made her stand, evidence of something akin to contentment. Loki will never be as I am, happy with peace, but if he can find contentment, I will be gladdened. As such, I will not stand in your way, Tony Stark, though if you injure him again where it is not warranted, bodily or mentally, I will bring you pain."

Tony blinks at him. He cannot believe this conversation is even happening. "How do you say things like that to friends while smiling?"

"Much practice," Thor booms heartily, his eyes creasing in the corners as he smiles.

Tony slides off of his stool and walks around to the other side of the bar. "I need a drink."

Thor glances at the window, lips pursing. "It is still very early for drink."

"Replay the conversation you and I just had," Tony says, grabbing a very expensive bottle of Scotch and a glass. "Replay it again, just in case, and tell me I don't deserve a goddamned drink."

Thor just grins and watches him.

* * *

Two weeks later, the Avengers minus Thor, who is lucky enough to be in Asgard when robotic hell breaks loose, are sprawled around the common living room, the coffee table laden with greasy pizzas, beers, and various appetizers. They're all bruised and tired after two full days of ridding New York City of it's most recent infestation of Doom Bots.

Tony sits down between Steve and Natasha, glass of whiskey in hand. "I'm starving. Pass the pepperoni."

Steve sniffs and sighs. "Your liver is going to shut down if you keep going like this."

"I bet he can make an arc reactor to keep it powered if that happens," Clint says thoughtfully, then shoves a whole mozzarella stick into his mouth.

"That is not how the arc reactor works, idiot," Tony says, rolling has eyes as Natasha hands him a greasy slice of pizza.

Steve ignores the banter, eyes still glued to Tony's face. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

Tony's surprised, really, that it's taken Steve so long to realize how much alcohol Tony had been consuming. It wasn't up to par with his three-day bender post Amora, but it was still ramped up compared to the months before it. The rest of the team has noticed; Tony just isn't sure if any of them besides Natasha have put the pieces together to answer the "why?" question.

And then Clint mumbles, through a mouthful of cheese, "A broken heart will do that to you."

Question answered, Tony thinks warily as he watches Natasha rolls her eyes and jab the archer in the ribs with her elbow. Tony offers her a high five, which she takes with a bland smile.

Clint coughs and then glares at Natasha. "What? It's true, isn't it? The time frame works!"

Steve frowns, his forehead creasing, and Tony just watches his pure, thawed brain put it all together. "What time frame? A broken heart over who?"

They all stare at him for a minute. Steve's eyes widen, and Tony pinpoints the exact second he figures it out. His cheeks turn pink and his mouth opens and closes like a fish.

"There we go!" Tony says, and thumps Steve on the back.

"You for…him…?" Steve sputters. He looks around.

Tony actually snorts into his pizza, and then Bruce stands, digging in his pocket, and leans over to hand Natasha a bill. She smiles sweetly and tucks it into her bra.

Tony narrows his eyes. "You all figured it out?" he asks, then turns his glare on Natasha. "On their own?"

Natasha shrugs. "I didn't say a word. I swear. You are a bit see-through, though. Obvious moping."

Tony huffs and leans back against the couch cushions. "Then it's totally not fair. This is my midlife crisis. If you were going to put bets down on when Capsicle would figure it out, I should have been included."

"You for Loki?" Steve blurts out, his ears as red as beets now.

Tony swallows a mouthful of pepperoni and just smiles his PR smile. "Cap, the world's changed since you were a dashing young lad."

"Where did he go, anyway?" Bruce asks tentatively. "He hasn't been back since the thing with Amora and Skurge."

Tony shrugs. He's starting to feel his stomach twist and his chest tighten. He hates that his answer of "Not sure" is true.

"Let's just start the movie," Natasha says with a tone that negates any possible arguments.

Tony knows the assassin isn't in that much of a rush to start the movie because she almost always hates Clint's choices, and it's his turn to dictate what's on the TV. She's perceptive, though— has to be in her line of work— and Tony has no doubt that she's noticed the way he's starting to fidget, the way he's tilting his glass back and forth so the ice clinks together.

He plans to buy her an expensive Russian vodka to show his thanks. A really, really expensive bottle.

"What are we watching?" Bruce asks, settling back against the cushions.

"The Fast and the Furious," Clint replies, and the entire group, minus Steve, groans.

"We watch that every damned time you get to pick for movie night!" Tony exclaims. "I vote we oust him. All in agreement, say—"

"Aye," Natasha says before he can finish. Clint looks at her with wide eyes.

"Not you, too," he whispers. She hits him in the face with a throw pillow.

The movie starts, and Tony says, "Jarvis, dim the lights to movie mode."

They're about two minutes into the first car chase when Steve mutters, "Seriously? Loki?"

Tony downs the rest of the scotch in his glass.

* * *

Days, weeks, and months pass. Any of Tony's worries are pushed to the back burner, overlaid by new projects, Avengers missions, and black-tie events Pepper all but forces him to go to. He has no reason to wonder about how to bring up feelings to a god, or how his ex-girlfriend/ current CEO will feel about him moving on, or how his team will respond to him courting someone who once mind-controlled one of their team and tried to kill them.

It doesn't matter because Loki just doesn't come back.


	6. Fire

Tony groans when the alarm goes off and his room flares red. It's just barely morning, and this is the first time he's slept, really slept, in weeks. He's mildly hungover to boot after he, Clint, and Thor drank an unfathomable amount of eggnog at Jane Foster's. Thor loves Earth holidays, especially Christmas, and the god can drink them all under the table. Tony takes that as a personal challenge, every time, and ends up in the same stomach-rolling, head throbbing state of being, every time.

"Jarvis, what the hell?" he grumbles and rolls out of bed, taking the sheet with him.

"HYDRA, sir," the AI responds, almost sounding exasperated.

"Seriously?" Tony digs through his drawers and pulls on a shirt, steps into a pair of pants, and doesn't care if they match. "It's fucking Christmas. Who pulls this kind of bullshit on Christmas?"

"I wonder if they are emotionally stunted, sir, and therefore despise any festive activities that incite familial bonding."

Tony barks out a laugh as he opens his door. "Who teaches you this shit, Jarv?"

"You and your infinite wisdom, of course."

"Someone's fishing for Christmas presents," Tony calls in a sing-song voice as he heads down to his lab to suit up.

Natasha already has the Quinjet prepared and waiting when Tony flies up to the helipad. He turns on his comms. "Nat, take Barton, Banner, and Cap with you. Thor and I will head in first since we've already got the flying business under control like real superheroes."

"Oh, shut up," she growls, sounding equally as thrilled to have been woken up. "Coulson already has SHIELD agents on the ground evacuating civilians. They've got firepower, explosives, and a few of their Extremis super soldiers on the ground."

"Oh, fabulous," Tony mutters. "Of course I finally finish the pulse prototype suit and we just get boring human enemies. I need me some magic."

"What is the saying you Midgardians employ?" Thor says, voicing booming loudly— almost too loudly— through the comms. "You must knock on the nearest tree to ward off superstition, Stark. Is that not right?"

Tony thinks he hears Natasha snort into the microphone.

"Let's just go find the bad guys," Tony says. "You can wax and wane poetic for me while we fly."

"What does it mean to wax and wane poetic?" Thor asks, sounding somewhat confused.

Tony laughs and shoots into the air. Thor is beside him almost immediately, the wind whipping around them and lightning following in their wake. They fly silently, and it's a short enough flight. Tony regrets it when they reach Brooklyn. He wishes he had time to prepare. No matter how many times he sees it, his city coated in ash, it still takes his breath away.

It doesn't even look like his city now. It's Christmas. The air should smell like snow, and flakes should be drifting down, dancing on the icy breeze. But it doesn't, and they don't. Instead, a thick haze of black smoke curls around the buildings, making it difficult to get any visual of the ground. What Tony can see of the streets in between the billowing, smoldering clouds is chaotic. Several buildings are only half-standing, rubble spilling into the streets and fire eating up the remaining stability. He sees some lights, red, green, and white, but they're flickering, dying out amidst all the destruction.

"The bridges still stand," Thor says gravely.

"For now," Coulson replies, voice steady and dark over the comms. "Several explosives have gone off. The bomb squad has disarmed a few they've found, but there are others, and we haven't found them yet. Stark, if your tech can aid us in that department, we'd be appreciative. Fly safely."

Tony doesn't think he's ever flown safely, but he says, "You got it."

For a while, it all goes smoothly. Tony stays with Thor at first, and they take as many HYDRA agents down from above as they can, shepherding civilians to SHIELD personnel who usher them out of the fires and surging smoke. When the others arrive, the Quinjet a welcome hum overhead, the Hulk all but tears out of the jet's doors, ready to shred the genetically enhanced soldiers.

"I'm going bomb hunting," Tony says. "Any leads, shoot 'em to me."

"Please be careful, Tony," Steve orders. "Do not attempt to disarm. We don't know what we're dealing with, so call the proper personnel in."

"Steve, I'm the leading weapons expert in the world. I think I can handle a measly HYDRA bomb," he scoffs. "Also, I'm always careful. Right, Jarv?"

"Sir, you have instituted a protocol that does not allow me to confirm or deny that statement when Captain Rogers is involved."

"Tony!" Steve hisses.

Tony winces as the Captain's voice nearly blows out his eardrum. "It's just a joke, Cap. Don't get your shield in a twist. I'll be careful. Keep me posted."

Tony's barely four blocks into his scan when there's a loud bang. He's only got a second, if even, to react before flaming debris snows down around him and he's flung through the air like a rag doll, repulsors useless against the sheer force of the blast. He collides with the side of a building, metal screaming against concrete, and his ear explodes with static as his comm shorts out, visuals flickering on his screen in a seizure-inducing array of lights before they go dark. He goes dark, too.

When he comes to, his vision wavers and blood runs down the side of his face and into his eye. All he can see above him is dark smoke, highlighted red by the rampaging flames.

"Well, fuck," he grunts.

He tries to move, but he can't. Something is anchoring him to the building, holding fast. He's vaguely aware that it hurts when he breaths, and he assumes that he has at least a few broken ribs. There's something else, though, that scares him. There's a numbness settling over him.

With a shaking hand, he peels his faceplate back and looks down. Whatever eggnog remaining in his stomach threatens to come up. There's no blood that he can see. No gore. There is, however, a very large piece of metal piping pierced through his abdomen, his suit puckered around it.

Tony expels a shaky breath and feels the panic clawing at his chest. The arc reactor still seems to be working, throwing an icy glow around his rubble-walled tomb, but it won't matter if the tech is working, not if he bleeds out. And he thinks that's exactly what's happening. His face is starting to feel cold, a different kind of cold than the air, the kind of cold that slithers from the inside out and short-circuits nerve endings until there's nothing left to feel.

He's only ever felt that once before, and while it was hot then, all sand and sun, there was black smoke, too. Black smoke and fire.

"Jarvis?" he whispers, words rough and almost slurred. "Please tell me you can hear me."

Everything is quiet. All he can hear is the groan of flames burning nearby.

Well, there are worse ways to go, he thinks, his breaths coming out more shallow and rushed as the panic mounts. He's glad he can't feel much of anything because it seems like his death is going to be a long, drawn out affair. If he's lucky, a HYDRA agent will stumble upon him and shoot him in the head. He leaves off his faceplate just in case he's that lucky.

He's not sure how long he lays there, but through the undulating smoke, he sees pale morning light accenting the sky. His vision starts to go black at the edges, and he's ready, ready to sink into it.

Except suddenly there's pain, burning hot pain searing through his abdomen. A scream tears out of him, broken and guttural until he's gasping.

"You will not die today," he hears someone snarl, hurried and just as broken as his own voice.

A coldness, as gentle as a snowfall, eases through him, dousing the fiery pain. Tony arches up towards it with a shattered groan. He tries to open his eyes, but he can't.

"Do you hear me, Stark?" the voice hisses, close to his ear. "You will not die."

He can't place the voice even though it stirs a raspy breath from his lungs. His thoughts are swirling, his focus fading, and he stops trying to grasp the ghostly slivers of recognition when the pain fades completely, leaving him exhausted. He doesn't fight the darkness this time, and nothing pulls him back up.

* * *

Tony's hearing returns before his vision does. He can't open his eyes, and his mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton, but he's oddly sedate and calm, so he just listens. He hears someone breathing nearby, hears a television humming in the background, hears monitors beeping a steady rhythm. The sounds comfort him. All he remembers hearing in his dreams is the squeal of metal tearing and fire droning angrily around him.

He isn't sure how long it takes before he manages to convince his eyelids to open.

"Am I drugged?" he slurs. "This shit is good."

He blinks, and when he opens his eyes again, Steve's pale face floods his vision. The super soldier looks like he's aged ten years. The corners of his eyes are creased with worry lines, his forehead is a map of wrinkles. The bags under his eyes remind Tony of Pepper's after he flew a nuke into another dimension and then fell back down to Earth from a hole in the sky.

"Tony?" the Captain croaks, then swallows back some of the emotion that leaks into his voice. "Thank god."

"What happened?" Tony manages, and needs to close his eyes again. He hears Steve settle back into his chair, drag it closer to the bed.

"You're a crazy bastard. That's what happened."

Tony forces his eyes open again so he can turn his head and stare at Steve. "Did… did you just swear?"

Steve smiles tightly. "That's nothing compared to what you'll hear from everyone else."

Tony laughs. His chest explodes with pain and he grinds his teeth together, grabs at the thin, scratchy sheets like until the agony fades.

"You have a bruised lung, several broken ribs, a pretty nasty head wound, and a lot of soft tissue damage." Steve pauses, his jaw working, the look creeping back into his eyes. "You almost died, Tony. You should have died."

Tony can hardly remember anything after slamming into the wall, but he knows, without a doubt, that what Steve says is true. He doesn't feel like he should be alive. He feels like shit. Everything hurts, some places more than others. The hospital room is filled with flowers, balloons, some stuffed animals he assumes are from Clint. It looks lived in. There are folded sheets and a pillow on a table, and Tony realizes that Steve is sitting in a chair that reclines. With a grunt, he says, "How long have I been out?"

Steve's laugh is humorless. "Nearly three weeks."

Tony's eyebrow shoot up. "Three weeks? What about the rest of the team?"

Steve nods and leans back in his chair, looking haggard. "Everyone else is fine. Nothing serious."

"Good." Tony grimaces when he moves his head. "Can we raise the bed? I feel like all of my blood is pooled in the back of my head from lying down."

Steve presses the remote that drags the bed into a semi-seated position. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks," Tony says, and settles back. "Except that I feel like roadkill. Obviously. Everything is kind of hazy, but I vaguely remember a huge piece of metal gutting me. What happened? Why aren't I dead? I should be. Not that I'm complaining. I don't want to be dead. "

Steve doesn't answer, doesn't make a peep in response to Tony's ranting. Instead, the Captain is looking at him with an expression that Tony can only describe as torn. He looks away when Tony makes eye contact.

Tony doesn't know why it cuts, but it does. "What aren't you telling me?" he asks, his heart beat speeding up. The monitors beep more quickly, keeping pace. The Captain doesn't answer and Tony grabs at the sheets again. "Steve. What is it? Did they give me something? Seriously. You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I can't say," Steve replies, words clipped.

Tony just stares at him for a minute. "You can't tell me," he says slowly, "why I'm not dead? Is this a SHIELD thing? Am I like you now? Super pretty and agile with buns of steel?"

Steve's lips quirk into a sad smile. "Don't ask, Tony. I promised I wouldn't say anything."

"Promised you wouldn't say anything?" Tony repeats, blinking. He's still foggy and slow from the drugs, yeah, but that isn't enough of a reason why he feels so lost. "What am I missing?"

Steve doesn't need to say it, though. Something clicks. It isn't so much a memory as a recollection of a voice, and it supplies the right question. He thinks Steve must see the realization dawn on his face because he leans forward, frowning, eyes apologetic. "Tony…"

"I see," Tony growls. The monitors blare. His pulse is erratic. "It's not what I'm missing. No. It's who."

Steve swallows and looks down at his shoes.

Tony's working so hard not to scream that his shredded body throbs painfully from the force of exerting such strenuous self control. His words are clipped and raw. "Did he say anything else?"

"No," Steve murmurs. "I'm sorry, Tony."

"Of course he didn't, the stupid bastard," Tony says, shaking his head. "Six months without a word, and the bastard just pops in, saves my life, and then bolts."

Before Steve can reply, the door bursts open. Pepper stands there, her face flushed and her hair in disarray.

"Tony," she manages, her voice dissolving into tears. "You stupid son of a bitch, I'm going to kill you."

"Are you telepathic now?" Tony questions before Pepper is standing next to him, squeezing his hand so tightly he's afraid his fingers are going to fall off. "How did you know I was awake?"

"I texted her," Steve replies.

Tony gapes. "Wait… you're texting now? Holy shit!"

He feels a rush of warmth from the dopey smile Steve offers and the way Pepper sits on the edge of the bed, still holding onto him like he's going to disappear, her beautiful face streaked with tears and smeared makeup. He almost forgets the angry burn in his belly. Almost.

"The rest of them will be here to see you," Steve says and he stands. "Are you okay with visitors this soon? Or do you want me to have them wait?"

Tony shakes his head. "Send them over. I could use it."

Steve's smile softens. "Sounds good."

He shuts the door behind him, and Pepper migrates to his vacated chair, kicking her shoes off and scooting as closet to the bed as she can get. "I'm really tired of you almost dying on me," she says tearfully, angrily.

"I don't do it on purpose," Tony replies, petulant, but squeezes her hand when she offers it to him. "I'm sorry."

It builds up before he recognizes what it is, a hot wave of pressure in his chest that makes him gasp.

"Tony," Pepper whispers. "It's okay."

He tries to swallow his heart back down, but it's lodged itself in his throat. "The bastard," he hisses. "The stupid bastard."

Pepper doesn't speak while he pulls himself back together, piece by broken piece. She was always good in these situations, a silent source of support. She just sits there, understanding and quiet.

When he has it reigned in, he looks at her again and tries to smile. "Tell me the truth. How bad does my beard look?"

She bats at his hand. "Ass."

"Even at the worst of times."

"I'm going to tell you something, Tony," Pepper says lowly. "You cannot tell Steve or Thor I told you, though, or I will murder you. Because they swore me to secrecy."

A laugh rumbles in Tony's chest. "I'd put money on you in that fight. Just for the record."

She smiles, eyes shining, and leans close, stretching so she can lay her head next to his on the pillow. "He stopped by," she whispers. "Once. A few days after you were hospitalized."

Tony closes his eyes against the tightening in his chest. He doesn't know when Pepper figured it out, or if Clint blabbed it to her, but he doesn't care. "Oh yeah?"

He feels her nod, her forehead brushing against his temple. "Yeah. It was two o'clock in the morning and I was dozing in the chair, and he just materialized out of no where like this was the USS Enterprise. He hardly spoke. Just stared at you for almost half an hour with this horrible expression on his face."

"He was probably thinking what everyone thinks," Tony manages with a strangled laugh. "That he should have just killed me when he had the chance so he didn't have to deal with my bullshit."

"I don't think that was it, Tony," she murmurs, still holding onto his hand. "He looked afraid. Really afraid."

Tony inhales. "Too little, too late, I think."

She doesn't say anything else, just strokes the top of his hand with her thumb in the way she knows calms him down. Tony wallows in the silence, because once the moment is over, he's done. He's done pining and doing whatever else lovesick people do after being shafted for months. He doesn't have patience, can't sit so still, and he's tired of this rush of feeling that has no outlet. He's seen death too many times, has shaken her hand and said hello too often, to just wait like this.

He's Tony fucking Stark. He does not wait.

After several minutes of quiet, Pepper murmurs, "Happy is bringing you a cheeseburger."

Tony groans contentedly. "Pep, you're god's gift to earth. I was worried I'd have to eat hospital food."

He shifts himself on the bed, and even though he's careful, it fucking hurts, but he does it anyway, opening up a Pepper-sized spot on the bed. She stares at him questioningly for a moment before she unfolds herself out of the chair and slides into the bed next to him, settling carefully. She stays above the covers, crossing her ankles, and leans her head against his shoulder.

It didn't work out for him and Pepper. It never will. He's too fearless, too careless, too chaotic. But he can count on her, because she isn't. She's a rock. It's good enough for now. Tony thinks he needs a rock.

Happy brings him greasy food. Rhodey shows up shortly after with an Iron Man teddy bear and a bouquet of red roses, which is what Tony always sends him when he's sick. Doctors and nurses make rounds, shoo his visitors out for a while so he can sleep. They almost need to drag Pepper through the door.

Tony sleeps for a while. He doesn't dream. He's glad.

Later in the day, when the sun is starting to go down and he's happily drugged, the door to his room opens and the familiar faces of the Avengers pour in. They're all wearing relieved expressions, wrapped presents tucked under their arms.

"This is like a fucking sitcom," Tony says, dripping sarcasm to try and hide his glee.

"Well, you were busy Christmas morning," Natasha says, smiling slightly. "You'll have to wait until you're done with the pain meds to drink mine, though."

Tony can't help it. He grins, so wide it hurts.

Natasha gives him a kiss on the cheek. Clint mocks the same movement and almost trips over the chair with a yelp when Tony turns toward him with his lips puckered. Bruce shakes his hand while snickering.

Thor is the last to approach him. He smiles the same way Steve smiled at him, and Tony can't help but return it, sad and telling. Something gleams in Thor's eyes— Tony thinks it's understanding, maybe even pity— but it's gone quickly. Good. Tony doesn't do pity.

"I am glad, Tony Stark," the Thunderer says gently. "I am glad to see you alive. Jane and Darcy will come for visitation tomorrow."

"All this attention," Tony says with a contended, dramatic sigh. "I should almost die more often."

Natasha threatens to gut him with the nearest vase. He takes the statement back immediately.

They stay late. The odd, ragtag group of superheroes Tony calls family sit on various pieces of furniture meant and not meant for sitting, and they eat Chinese take out. They talk, and they update Tony on the status of the world while he's been comatose. They tell him how despondent Jarvis has been while he was out, and when Clint is telling him how the AI has been quoting the Terminator films again in the middle of the night, Tony suddenly feels like he's being watched. He sees Thor shift, too, out of the corner of his eye, and the mirrored reaction makes his breath catch. He looks around, gaze settling on the window because he thinks, for a moment, that he sees a silhouette reflected in the glass.

It's gone before he can focus on it. He doesn't look back at the window.


	7. Frostbite

I had fun writing this chapter. I hope you all enjoy. :)

* * *

Steve's in DC for some press conference. Bruce is in India for a rocket scientist conference. Thor is in Asgard for some Asgardian conference. The wonder twins are on a classified mission, but Tony assumes they must be at some fucking conference, too, because apparently everyone has a conference to be at but him.

He's kind of jealous. He doesn't think he's ever wanted a press conference to be at before, and he'll never tell Pepper about his sudden change of heart— she'll use it against him— but he's bored. Really bored. It's been almost two months and he's still benched. There have been a few calls for the Avengers, and he's wanted to go, hungered for it, but instead he sits at base and watches everyone fly off into the sunset because his broken ribs are taking their sweet time healing.

What it boils down to is: Tony Stark is about ready to lose his mind.

It's one thing when he has options but decides to sequester himself in his workshop and forgo sleep and sustenance. It's a whole different story when that is literally the only thing he can do with his time besides watch reruns of Iron Chef. And it's not like he can do what he wants to in his workshop, anyway. There's a list, a goddamned list, prohibiting him from an array of things— all of the things he wants to do, yearns to do. No heavy lifting. No testing suits. No forging. He can tinker with little things, play with wires as long as he isn't going to electrocute himself, and build gauntlets until the cows come home.

But goddamnit, he just wants to blow something up.

He isn't sleeping much, either, and that's always been his way of doing things, depriving himself of sleep, except this time, he has no say in the matter. Sleep won't come, avoids him about as well as a certain Norse god, and the insomnia combined with the overall weight of boredom is slowly wearing him down. When he does sleep, when his body finally gives in, he's wracked by nightmare after nightmare until he wakes up sweaty and panting, his bruised and broken ribs aching from thrashing and fighting his way back to consciousness. Sometimes he's in a cave, surrounded by the scent of hot metal and blood. Sometimes his chest is an empty hole and the shrapnel migrates like Natasha's special bullets, straight to the target. Sometimes he's cold and bleeding out in a fissure of rubble.

Tony Stark never thought he feared death. His nightmares are making him rethink that stance, though.

So he drinks coffee, pot after pot, sometimes mixing it up with caffeinated, sugary energy drinks or little cups of espresso that Pepper occasionally indulges in, and he tries to keep himself busy.

But today he's alone. It was him and Bruce, up until last night when the doc flew out. The tower is painfully silent. He decides it would be a good time to take one of his cars' engines apart and put it back together with a little bit more zest. He's been tinkering with ideas of arc-powered automobiles, and he doesn't really love the idea, but there's not much else to do, and he can't trust Jarvis to keep his secrets if he decides to do anything reckless to his healing process. He's already blabbed to Pepper about his occasional glass of liquor, and then he had to sit and listen to her rant at him about why he shouldn't be drinking with so many narcotics going through his system.

"Jarvis, bring up the schematics of the car, will you?"

"Of course, sir."

The screen flickers to life and he's just getting read to pry the hood off of his Bugati when the building shakes.

"Uh, Jarv, anytime you want to explain the big bang would be great."

"The Big Bang occurred roughly thirteen point six billion years ago—"

"Jarvis, I swear to god!"

"Speaking of gods, Mr. Odinson has returned, sir."

Tony rolled his eyes. "How long has he been gone again?"

"Nearly two weeks, sir."

"Huh," Tony says, swiping at the car schematics, willing them away. "I thought he was going to be gone longer." He stands up and stretches. "At least I'll have some goddamned company."

Tony is almost to the elevator when Jarvis says, almost sounding unsure, "Sir, Mr. Odinson is inside the building, and he is not alone."

"Who's with him?"

"Mr. Laufeyson, sir."

Tony clenches his fists, heart palpitating. He expected Jarvis to list any number of names, but he didn't expect that. "Shit," he says dumbly. "Do I need the suit?"

"I do not believe so."

"Prepare Mark XXVI, anyway," Tony replies tightly. "And have the pulse juiced and ready to go just in case."

"Yes, sir."

"Where are they?"

"The rooftop bar."

Tony doesn't rush upstairs. He goes slowly, using his time in the elevator to steady his racing pulse. He's nervous, but the nerves are trumped by residual anger that still courses through him almost a year after the god disappeared. He knows he has no right to hold onto it. He was the one who pressed the button, even though he still maintains he did what he thought was right because no one ever tells him anything. He knows that he was in the wrong. And anyway, there was nothing between Loki and himself aside from a very, very tense friendship, followed by flirting and one night that was easily in Tony's top five.

And some otherwise unreciprocated possible feelings, but he ignores those whenever possible. So, he knows he has no right, but he holds onto it, anyway, because if it's not anger, it's going to be something else entirely, and he still isn't sure if he's ready to deal with that.

The elevator doors open quietly and Tony steps over the threshold. The floor is relatively dark, only the dim lights around the bar turned on, but it's enough light for Tony to make out the two figures. Thor sits on one of the sofas on the far side of the lounge, arms draped over his knees. He is uninjured, from what Tony can see around the shadows. When he looks up and spots Tony, his smile is tired.

"Tony," he says lowly. "I am sorry."

Tony doesn't ask what he's sorry about. He doesn't need to. Loki is standing behind his brother, staring at Tony impassively, his arms hanging at his sides. There's no armor, nothing to hide his lithe figure under the green and black leathers, and Tony knows he's thinner than before. His cheekbones are more prominent. His hair is longer, too, curling just past his shoulders. He looks as tired as Thor, but there's a mask in place. Tony want to shatter it, and not because he's pissed off that he's been blindsided.

"I am sorry to intrude," the God of Lies says.

Tony sees the tick of his jaw, the way the long shadows of the room highlight the pulse in his neck. Loki's not lying. He doesn't want to be here. It's as plain as day in the stiff way he stands.

Tony doesn't let it get to him. At least he won't admit it.

"I'd offer you a drink, for old time's sake, but seeing as how I'm not allowed to drink yet, I'm not letting you, either," he drawls, trying not to smirk at the flash of irritation he sees skirt across Loki's features. He tears his gaze away and refocuses it on Thor, walking towards him. "You look like shit, big man. What's going on?"

"I have been magicked," Thor grunts.

"Of course you have," Tony sighs, and he wishes, really wishes, he could have a drink. He considers it. He doesn't think Pepper would blame him, not with this situation.

"It is potent magic," Loki supplies, tilting his head. "Amora has a sister, named Lorelei, who wasted no time scouring the realms when she learned of her sister's capture. They do not treat traitors well in Asgard."

Tony snorts. "You would know."

Loki's eyes narrow. "Tread carefully, Stark."

"When have you known me to tread carefully?" He taps his arc reactor and flashes a fake smile. "What are you asking me for?"

"I am a threat to Asgard," Thor grounds out. His face is contorted with frustration.

"How so?"

"As I mentioned," Loki says with a rolls of his eyes, "if you would perhaps listen to anything besides the sound of your own voice, Amora's sister has cast a spell on him. It is similar to the spell she cast on me, meant to control."

"We believe she wishes me to release Amora," Thor answers, "and I therefore cannot stay in Asgard. While the healers and mages may yet find a counter, I am compromised."

Tony nods. "Makes sense. So you just want to hang low here until they figure out an antidote?"

"You possess a device that will douse the magic immediately." Loki smiles thinly. "I have firsthand experience of its capability. Any foreign magic does not regain control."

Tony laughs. He can't help it. It rumbles in his chest and makes his ribs throb, but he can't stop himself. "You're asking me for a favor?"

"I do believe you owe me one," Loki says, still smiling, though there's a dangerous edge to his voice. "If I had not intervened, you would be dead. And if not for me, I cannot imagine you would turn your comrade away when he comes to you seeking aid."

"Must run in the family, this weakness to busty women and their magic," Tony quips. "Are you sure you're not related by blood?"

Loki takes a step around the couch, his eyes dark. "Do not try my patience, Stark."

Tony's pretty sure there's smoke pouring from the god's nose he's so angry. "Fine," he says, and then smiles, all teeth. "Jarvis, you heard the man. Pulse away."

"Activating pulse, sir," Jarvis intones.

Tony's perfected the pulse well enough. He can hardly feel the density of the air change, become weighted, but the fluctuation is still there, and Loki's eyes widen with surprise. The expression drags a sense of bitter pride from the recesses of Tony's chest, because he can still surprise the god. Good, he thinks. He's tired of being the boring one in this ugly dance.

Thor's body goes rigid and Mjolnir, strapped to his hip, starts to fizzle, but the sparks die down quickly. Loki is not nearly as unaffected. The skin showing, the pale skin of his hands, face, and neck, bleeds to blue. His eyes flicker until they're as red as Tony's suit.

"You've done this to me before, Stark," Loki whispers, and the words are strained, angry, like he's holding back a force behind them that could level the room. "You dare do it again?"

"Sorry, can't hear you over the sound of me doing what you asked," Tony says sweetly. He takes a step forward, refusing to look away when Loki bares his teeth. "You look good in blue." He's sincere. He actually thinks the god looks good enough to eat— or ravish—but he says it with bite because he's still afraid to admit to anything, not when Loki is the wildcard.

Loki's anger is almost as palpable as the pulse. He starts to charge forward, but Thor grabs his forearm and drags him back.

"You will control yourself, brother," Thor snaps, blue eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. "You are a guest here."

Tony smiles impishly while Loki seethes.

"Is that enough?" Tony asks, rocking back on his heels. "Can I turn it off?"

Thor looks to Loki, who nods once, chest rising and falling quickly.

"You're not going to kill me once you have your hocus locus back, are you?"

Loki stares at him for a moment, and then a grin spreads across his face. "I promise nothing."

"You're nothing but honest," Tony deadpans. "Jarvis, pulse off, if you please."

The heaviness in the air dissipates, and Thor visibly relaxes. The tired smile returns. "Thank you, Tony."

"My pleasure," Tony says, gives a little wink, then watches as Loki's skin becomes alabaster once again. "I like you this way, too. In case you were wondering."

Loki looks like he might still try to strangle him.

"We will stay to rest, if you will allow it," Thor says, speaking slowly, carefully, like he's afraid something's going to break.

Tony almost laughs when it hits him. The Thunderer's a shit liar and an even worse actor. He can tell Thor has something up his armored sleeve. He assumes it has to do with him and Loki. He's not playing into it, though. He's keeping his hand of cards close to his chest. "Sure, whatever." He points at Loki. "Stay the hell out of my workshop."

Loki offers a mocking bow, then vanishes.

"I fucking hate when he does that," Tony says with an eye roll. "What a diva."

"He was hesitant to come here." Thor stands slowly, smoothing his hair away from his face. "He did not think you would welcome him."

Tony shrugs and starts back towards the elevator. "I don't care anymore. It's been too long for me to care. Jarvis, elevator, please."

Thor's voice goes quiet and soft. "For a god of Asgard, it has not been overly long."

Tony stiffens. He knows what Thor is trying to say, at least he thinks he does, and it sends a shiver up his spine. He can't give in to it, though. "Well," he replies casually, as casually as he can, "I'm not a god of Asgard."

They ride the elevator down to the shared floor in silence, and Thor doesn't bring it up again, to Tony's continued relief. They order a pizza, because Thor is like a tornado in the kitchen and Tony doesn't just doesn't want to cook. They watch an action film, eat, and Tony is glad someone is there because he really didn't want to do this by himself.

"Will you return to Asgard tomorrow, then?" he asked as the credits roll.

Thor nods. "I must, to inform the Allfather that I am well."

"Are you taking tall, dark, and bitchy with you?"

"You mean Loki?" Thor asks, a laugh rumbling in his chest. "He will accompany me, if he so desires. The Allfather has given him reign to travel. He has been returned to Asgard for the last Earth month, and he has been of a great aid to Asgard. The Allfather has lessened his sentence."

"Man, prisoners have it easy where you come from," Tony muses. "Try to take over a planet? Break out of jail? Fake your own death? Slap on the wrist, and make sure to visit mom and dad soon"

Thor stiffens. "Loki never has it easy in Asgard. I have come to understand that as of late."

"So it seems."

"You taunt him, with his Jotun form."

Tony rolls his eyes at the disapproval. "I don't, not really." He pauses. "Okay, maybe I do, but honestly, I meant what I said." He looks Thor in the eye and waggles his eyebrows. "I think it looks good."

Thor raises a brow. "Loki does not."

It went completely over his head, Tony thinks, and forces the smile away. Instead, he says, "No shit," then stands and stretches. "I think it's time for me to take some more pain meds and sleep, big guy." It's a lie. A partial one, at least. He'll take more pain meds, but he won't sleep. Even if he wanted to, the nightmares aren't worth it, and he's not sure he trusts taking a little shut eye with the God of Mischief teleporting around the tower. As soon as he's out of earshot, he plans to tell Jarvis to start a pot of coffee in his workshop.

"I should rest, as well. I will depart at dawn, Tony Stark."

Tony offers him a salute. "Travel safe. Say hi to dear old dad."

He's barely to the elevators when the air shivers. He turns in time to see Loki's face only a few inches from his own, his expression dark, before the god grabs his hand and they're enveloped in the vacuum of darkness that is Loki's magic.

When they land, Tony barely has a chance to steady himself before he's herded back into a wall, the god's body pressed flush against his own. Loki doesn't kiss him, but his breath chills Tony's lips when he speaks, he's so close.

"Why do you incite my anger?" he questions lowly.

"My ribs are still broken," Tony growls, teeth clenched. Even the light pressure of Loki pushing against him is too much. "Ease up, will you? Fuck."

Loki does, just barely, and then slips a cold hand up Tony's shirtfront. Tony hisses out a breath at the feel of icy fingers trailing his abdomen, unable to stop himself from jumping. Gooseflesh breaks out across his skin.

"You're really cold," he winces.

"I thought you liked my Jotun form?" Loki hisses, and then his skin is darkening. Even in the low light, Tony can see he's dropped the Aesir look. His eyes glitter like rubies in the darkness. Tony can make out the ridges that line his face, curling around his cheekbones, that he didn't notice before. He wants to touch them, trail his fingers along them, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to jump down that rabbit hole, and he thinks Loki's at some breaking point, and he isn't sure he's ready to pick up those pieces.

And holy fucking shit, the god's skin is beyond cold. It's icy, glacial enough that it almost hurts. Tony can't help but shiver.

"Have you nothing to say, Man of Iron?" the god sneers, pressing close again, until Tony can actually see his breath steam between them.

Tony maintains eye contact and then just goes for it. He's not used to apologizing, but there's a first time for everything. "I'm sorry for using the magic EMP on the roof, way back when," he blabbers, teeth almost chattering. "I was pissed. I thought you were playing us for Amora. I also didn't know it would do this." He gestures to Loki's current form, as much as he can with the god crowding him. "Not that I don't like it. I think you look fantastic, really. But obviously you have some issues with being an honorary member of the Blue Man Group—"

"Do not toy with me!" Loki snarls, and the cold hand on his stomach goes from New York winter cold to Antarctica cold.

Definitely at a breaking point. And that breaking point kind of really hurts.

Tony puts his hands on Loki's chest and pushes in an attempt to shove the god away, fingers digging into leather. Loki is stronger, though, and doesn't budge. If anything, he leans into Tony's touch, exerting more pressure until Tony's battered bones sing. He's pretty sure the last two months of healing are completely fucked now, but he can barely put two and two together over the mind-numbing cold sinking into his goddamned nerve endings. His skin _burns_, and Tony bites back a scream. He's pretty sure it's what frostbite feels like. The searing pain is quickly starting to tingle.

He's about ready to have Jarvis call for Thor, because he's not dealing with Loki's temper tantrum without his goddamned suit, but then Loki steps back abruptly, hand sliding away. Tony gasps at the sudden sensation before promptly sliding down the wall, clutching his stomach. His heart beats so quickly he can hardly catch his breath. He stares up at Loki, who looks down at him, expression guarded and shadowed.

"You son of a bitch," Tony growls. He's so angry he's seeing red. He's never wanted a drink more in his life, and he's going to tell Pepper to shove it— nicely— if she faults him for drinking after the shit show that was his and Loki's reunion. "This is how you take an apology? Fuck you."

Loki straightens to his full height. The air around them warms as his skin switches yet again. "You lack sincerity, Stark."

"Oh, I am sincerely telling you to go fuck yourself." Tony forces himself to his feet even though his legs feel wobbly. The skin over his abdomen is burning, too, and he can feel the damage, feel the pulling, but he ignores it as best he can. "Jarvis, turn on the goddamned lights."

The lights flicker on. Tony isn't surprised that the god's expression is blank, but he knows it's fake, knows there's something simmering below the surface. Loki wouldn't still be here if there wasn't.

"Did you not hear me?" Tony seethes, clutching at his stomach. His seared skin is sticking to the inside of his t-shirt. "I thought you were selling us out. I was pissed off. What did you expect me to do?"

"I've expected too much of you," Loki replies darkly. "Did you not piece the puzzle together, you bumbling mortal? I thought you a genius by Midgardian standards."

Before Tony can reply, Loki steps forward again, bending so that his hair brushes against Tony's cheek as he whispers, "I purposefully vanished when you began work on something of importance. I cast spells during your mundane debriefings to minimize my knowledge. I was very much aware of what information I was or was not taking in." He exhales slowly, cold breath tickling Tony's ear. "Your computer was monitoring my magic, was it not? And still you could not figure it out?"

It all stings, because he's right, but Tony doesn't back off. "I wasn't exactly looking for a reason to distrust you. My bad."

"I am the God of Lies," Loki taunts.

"Don't pull that bullshit with me. You could have thrown me a fucking bone."

"Are you my dog, Stark?" Loki laughs. It isn't a gentle sound. "It was good of me to leave, then, before this evolved into something more tedious."

Tony leans back against the wall as the god retreats. He feels like he's been punched in the gut. Something more, the god said. Something more. Tony's circuits are about to short out, because it means it wasn't just him. He's a little disgusted with himself— he's hanging on to _that_ after all the god's said, accused him of, insulted him with— but he doesn't care. Fuck it. He was an idiot to think he'd ever avoid it if the god decided to show his face again.

Rabbit hole it is.

"What are you even doing here?" he asks pointedly. "Thor could have asked me for help on his own. He didn't need you to babysit him. So why are you here, Loki?"

The god stops, looks over his shoulder, dark strands of hair falling into his face. He doesn't smile, doesn't do anything, just says, without any ceremony, "It was a mistake."

He's going to just vanish, Tony knows it, so he does all he can think of to prolong the inevitable. He orders, "Jarv, pulse."

Loki's eyes widen as the air condenses. He turns blue and red, and he gapes at Tony with such a startled, accusatory expression that Tony almost laughs. He kisses the god instead. And it's cold, really fucking cold, but Loki makes a sound in the back of his throat, part frustration and part want, and Tony finds that he doesn't really care if he freezes to death.

There are worse ways to die.


	8. Calling it Even

Explicit sexual content, ahoy!

Enjoy this chapter, and thanks for the support.

* * *

Tony's in pain. His body is throbbing, especially his ribcage, and the hand-shaped area of frostbitten abdominal skin is screaming with a stinging pain that intensifies every second he stays pressed up against Loki's leather-clad chest. He thinks he should pull away, should go find a first-aid kit and hope frostbite is treated the same as any other wound. Maybe he can ask Jarvis to look it up on Wikipedia so he knows if he needs to go to the hospital. He probably needs to go to the hospital. It really hurts, and he can't imagine it's going to look any better tomorrow. He briefly recalls watching segments on The Discovery Channel where men and women lose appendages from frostbite.

But then Loki's fingers skim up his throat, trailing a sensation not unlike falling snow across his skin. He grabs a fistful of Tony's hair and tugs, tilting his head back so the god has better access to his mouth.

Yeah, he's not pulling away.

He's surprised, actually. He's cold, cold enough that he's shivering slightly, but it doesn't hurt, not like when Loki decided to freezer burn his stomach. No, this is manageable. Sexy, even. His lips are tingling— fucking tingling—and Loki's tongue is as hot as his lips are icy. The god presses into him like he's seeking warmth, and Tony presses back, heedless of the pain, because he wants to give it.

He shouldn't push it, he knows that, but his hands have a mind of their own, and they want to unlatch leather straps and unfasten buckles and they go for in. Loki's breath hitches and for a moment, he allows Tony to fumble with the intricate outfit. Tony thinks the god laughs softly against his mouth as he struggles to get his clothes off, can feel the vibration in Loki's chest, but then Loki's hand slides away from Tony's hair and he grabs both of his wrists, stalling his movements.

There is a fine line between pain and pleasure with this touch. The god's skin is cold enough against the tender flesh of his wrists that it burns ever so slightly. Tony grunts when Loki breaks away and presses his forehead to Tony's, dark hair spilling forward. His eyes are heavy lidded so Tony can barely see a sliver of red, and his breath causes ice to crystalize on Tony's beard.

"Turn it off, Stark," he whispers, ragged and husky. "The pulse does not dampen the frost. It is a part of me, and I cannot control it in such a state."

Tony smirks. "I don't want you to control yourself. Obviously."

He thinks he sees Loki's lips quirk the tiniest bit. "You will when I turn you into a similar frozen specimen as you found your Captain Rogers."

Tony doesn't say anything for a moment. When he does, he keeps his voice as neutral as he can. "You'll just disappear if I turn it off."

Loki sucks in a breath through his teeth. It might be a laugh, but Tony isn't sure. "You cannot wish me to stay."

"Maybe I do," Tony replies with a noncommittal shrug. "Maybe I don't. If I think about it, actually, it's this annoying mixture of both, like how I want to kiss you and pummel your face at the same time. You just kind of bring that reaction out in me."

Loki pulls back slightly, leveling Tony with an icy stare. He licks his lips. "Stark—"

"You disappeared for almost a year," Tony snaps, finally blurting it out.

Loki blinks, face blank. "Pardon?"

"You didn't come back." Tony's anger wavers as the embarrassment of what he's saying sets in, but he's already dug himself the hole, so he figures might as well lie in it. There's a pretty big chance the god is going to bolt again, anyway, and he's been holding this in for the better part of a year, and Tony doesn't hold things back. It's been exhausting. "You were gone for months. You were willing to save me after I turned myself into a kabob, but you weren't willing to stick around and see me. And your visit with Pep doesn't count, by the way. Neither does the bullshit with the window. I saw your reflection in it. I'm not an idiot."

"You have had me fooled, then," Loki monotones, but there's something uncertain in downward curve of his mouth, like he's trying not to frown.

"I wanted you to come back," Tony says lowly. "That's the big elephant in the room here, if you understand that turn of phrase. Even when I was furious, I wanted you to come back. And then I stop wanting it, and you fucking show up. So, I don't give two shits if you're a blue icicle. I'm not turning off the pulse if it means you're just going to bail."

Tony watches the mask start to fall away from Loki's face. He stares down at Tony like he's just asked him to do something almost impossible—brows drawn, eyes widening, and mouth slightly open in surprise. However, the expression quickly folds in on itself and the god draws himself up to his full height. His grip on Tony's wrists tightens. "You used your infernal device on me," Loki sneers. "I did not set the precedent for our parting. You did."

Tony cocks his head. "Then what do you call the Amora bullshit? I think it was a pretty good precedent."

Loki bristles, eyes narrowed and dangerous. The temperature of his skin drops enough to make Tony jolt. "You very well know that the spell prohibited me from speaking of it to anyone, Stark. I did, then, what I could to foil her plans since I was having difficulty finding a way to counteract the spell myself."

"Yeah, I get that, but I didn't know you were actively trying to not throw us under the Amora-shaped bus at the time. I thought it was another game to you, so I kind of reacted accordingly. You can't fault me for thinking that way. It's kind of your M.O."

"I cannot fault you for it, no," Loki murmurs. He leans forward again, shortening the distance between them, and questions darkly, "But then what was your excuse this night? Or do you merely enjoy ripping my weaknesses to the surface?"

"That is not what this is," Tony says, but even as the words leave his mouth, he knows it's a lie. And he knows the God of Lies can tell. He sighs, grinds his teeth together, and says, "Okay, so maybe it is. Sue me. I wanted to hurt you. It is working?"

"Yes," Loki whispers so quietly the words are almost inaudible.

Tony sounds more sheepish than he'd like. "Can we call it even, then?"

The tendons in Loki's neck bulge and he lets go of Tony's wrists, flinging his hands away almost violently as he steps back, far enough so he can offer another of his condescending bows. His eyes glow in the artificial light. "Call it even, you ask? But have you had your fill, I wonder? Or are you too disgusted to feast your mortal eyes on a monster masqueraded for centuries as a god?"

Tony realizes, as he stares upon Loki's self loathing, that the months without the god have turned him into a complete and utter asshole. He never thought of himself as bitter, but maybe he is. He thinks about his father, uninterested in his only son, and he thinks about Obie, about the worst stab of betrayal he's ever felt, and yeah, maybe Tony Stark has been bred to be bitter. He remembers how he rendered Loki the first time he used the EMP on the god, and now he's done it twice more in a single night, and he's not sure how he's still alive. He doesn't know why Loki hasn't killed him.

Except maybe he does. _Something more._ That was what Loki said. He was glad he left before they evolved into something more.

Tony takes a step forward and before Loki can stop him, he touches the god's face, drawing his callused thumb across the blue ridges curling around his cheek. Loki's skin drops in temperature but Tony doesn't pull away.

"I know the tabloids say I'll fuck anything that moves, but it isn't true."

Loki's nostrils flare.

Tony raises a brow and allows himself to offer a small, careful smile. "I want you, though. I would risk it. We can have a different kind of feast than the one you're thinking about."

Loki stares at him blankly for a moment, and then he laughs, full out laughs, teeth and dimples and wrinkles around his mouth, and Tony feels his heart summersault in his chest.

"You amaze me," Loki says, words still rumbling with laugher, and he shakes his head. "You must be mad."

"The tabloids think that, too." Tony swallows the lump in his throat. "Jarv, turn off the pulse."

Loki quiets immediately, then looks at his hands, turning them palm-up and then back again as his skin lightens. When he's all pale alabaster again, he makes eye contact with Tony, and his grin is devilishly wide.

And then he disappears.

Tony's hand hovers in midair for a moment, fingers twitching, and then he drops it to his side with a huff. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Yes," Loki whispers silkily from behind him.

Tony whirls around to face the god, and Loki grabs a hold of his neck with one hand, still grinning. They fall into blackness for a moment, the density of the void pulling and pushing uncomfortably at Tony's injured skin, and when he feels the world again, he's falling backwards. He's hardly able to breathe out a curse before he lands on the bed, his own silk sheets rippling around him.

Loki lands on top of him, legs straddling his hips and hand still wrapped around his throat, and though he's lithe and lean, Tony doesn't think he's ever hurt so much in his entire life.

"My fucking ribs," he wheezes. The pain radiating from his abdomen, between the healing bones and shredded skin, is so consuming he can barely catch his breath. Not to mention Loki's deft fingers pressing around his windpipe. Tony thinks his heart might actually beat its way out of his chest this time.

"Look at me," Loki snarls. His fingers release Tony's neck only to skim upwards and grip his jaw, exerting enough force to bruise. He tilts Tony's head back, pressing him even harder into the mattress.

Through the pain, which is all but bleaching his vision, Tony's vaguely reminded of the day Loki grabbed his face in a similar fashion before defenestrating him. He'd laugh if he had the breathing capacity to do so and not pass out.

He manages to find Loki's eyes through the neon flashes of light swirling like pinwheels. The god stares down at him, lips curled back. His eyes burn like copper on fire and Tony isn't sure he's hallucinating the glow of green mist emanating from Loki's silhouette.

Loki doesn't say anything. He just leans down and hungrily devours Tony's mouth.

Tony's had some pretty odd sexual experiences. He's fucked in public places for the thrill of being caught. He's fucked while drunk and stoned out of his mind. He's involved himself in role play, toys, even some silk handkerchiefs and blindfolds. He would do a lot of them again, and there aren't many things he won't try at least once, because he likes testing boundaries in the bedroom the same way he likes testing them in the workshop. He likes to see what warring sensations he can combine with desire before something breaks.

He's never done this before, though, combined sex with pain so intense he can hardly form a coherent thought, but he's getting hard all the same. He reaches up and runs both of his shaking hands through the god's hair, not caring as his fingers tear through tangles, then grabs two fistfuls and arches his hips up, using Loki as leverage.

Loki's breath does that thing again where it trembles against Tony's mouth, and Tony wonders if maybe the god was expecting him to react differently.

Loki lets go of his chin and seizes his shirt, ripping the thick cotton fabric like it's a sheet of paper. He nips at Tony's bottom lip, hard enough to elicit a groan, before he sits back on Tony's hips and splays a hand across the arc reactor. The god sighs, eyelids fluttering, and the familiar chill of Loki's magic curls through Tony's chest, humming to the same tune as his reactor.

Tony thinks his heart may have stopped. Loki looks exotic and perfect, looming above him with the light overhead haloing his form and highlighting the utter disarray of his dark hair. He arches up again and gasps when Loki replies by grinding down.

"I want you," Tony breathes. "Fuck, I want you."

"You are injured." Loki trails his other hand across the blistered, puckering skin of Tony's stomach. He smirks when Tony hisses out in pain. "I do not wish to hurt you," he croons mockingly.

Tony may be out of his mind with lust and pain, but he doesn't miss his own words being tossed back at him. "You're a sick bastard."

Loki hums his consent as he shimmies down Tony's body, layers of leather disappearing in the blink of an eye as he does so. He dips his head to drag his tongue along Tony's jaw, then continues downward, mouthing a hot trail around the arc reactor before stopping to scrape his teeth over one nipple, then the other. Tony's body is vibrating with want, and he keeps trying to find some friction to satisfy his raging and unattended erection, but Loki has his hand pressed against Tony's hip like a fucking paperweight.

He's pretty sure even Loki, with his superhuman strength, struggles to keep Tony on the bed when he plants a gentle kiss to the seared, frostbitten flesh of his stomach.

"Fuck!" Tony snarls, bucking against the god who laughs, breath cool against his skin.

Loki makes quick magical work of vanishing the rest of his underclothes and Tony's pants. Tony barely has any time to admire Loki's naked form before the god closes his mouth over the head of Tony's cock. Tony arches into the wet heat, head thrown back, and moans when Loki sucks and draws his mouth upwards until he's just tonguing the slit. He continues to tease, even chuckles when Tony fists his hands in the god's hair and tries to fuck his mouth.

His entire body tenses, inviting a new wave of pain to wash over him, when Loki finally takes Tony's entire length into his mouth, then uses the slightest amount of teeth on the head before he pulls off.

"Fucking shit," Tony croaks, chest heaving, as he watches Loki climb over him.

"Tell me what you want, Tony," Loki commands huskily.

"You. I want you."

A dark smile spreads across Loki's face, and without any preparation, he slides down onto Tony's cock.

Tony grabs the god's thighs, nails digging into the pale skin, as he breaches the tight ring of muscle. His entire body hurts, aches in a horrible way, but all he can focus on with any clarity is how tight and hot Loki feels around him, how his leg muscles quiver under Tony's hands, and how his mouth is open and his chest heaves as he stares down at Tony.

He braces one hand on Tony's chest, over the arc reactor, and rolls his hips up slowly. Tony doesn't move, just watches the god's other hand, glowing green, hoover over the ruined skin of his stomach.

"Are you going to kill me?" Tony asks shakily.

Loki doesn't answer, just presses his hand down until Tony is screaming from the pain. He waits until Tony opens his eyes and focuses on his face before he starts moving his hips again, riding Tony into the mattress with a ferocity Tony's never seen. He grips the god's hips, fingers digging into lean muscle so he can meet the god's thrusts, and tries not to fall apart from the overwhelming, opposing sensations coursing through him. He's vaguely aware of what Loki is doing to his fancy new frostbite— he's experienced the bone-shattering cold that slithers through his skin all the way down to his bones before— but he was much less lucid then, dying even, and the impaling going on was a lot less fun.

He can feel his skin stitch back together. He can feel the throb of broken, bruised ribs dissipate. He can feel Loki clench around him. He closes his eyes and when he opens them again, he focuses on Loki's face. The god's eyes are fever bright, his teeth bared, and his pale skin flushed. Tony doesn't think he's ever seen anything so beautiful, and that thought makes him come with an intensity that steals his breath away and flashes stars across his vision.

Loki bends down to take his lips in a bruising kiss and Tony has enough sense left to wrap his hand around Loki's cock and pump erratically as he thrusts his quaking hips up. At the tail end of Tony's orgasm, Loki clenches around him and moans, low and keening against his mouth, both hands sliding up to cup either side of Tony's face as he grinds himself down onto Tony's cock and loses himself.

The god collapses on top of him, his body unusually warm, and they remain that way for a while, not holding each other, per say, but gently touching, skimming fingertips across damp skin until their breathing mellows. Tony's feeling sated and happily tired for the firs time in a long time, and he grunts unhappily when Loki finally rolls off of him. He waits for the god's weight to leave the bed, because he doesn't expect him to stay, but it doesn't. Loki lays on his side, his body just barely brushing against Tony's, and splays a hand over the reactor.

Tony tries to fight back a smile and fails. "Why do you like that so much?" he asks sleepily. His eyelids feel like lead, so he lets them close.

He hears a thoughtful hum, and then Loki says, quietly, "I find the energy it emits appealing and soothing."

"Are you saying you like me or something?"

"Or something," Loki responds, then adds after a pause, "though you infuriate me with your endless babble."

Tony chuckles. "I like you, too, or something," he yawns. "Jarvis, lights, please."

The glow brightening the inside of his eyelids dies and Tony sighs. He falls asleep with Loki's hand pressed firmly to his chest, and even though he wakes up alone early the next morning, his sleep is dreamless for the first time in weeks.


	9. Sometimes

As always, thanks for the favorites and follows! Comments would be appreciated. :)

And fair warning: this is the second to last chapter!

* * *

The others return from their engagements, Clint and Natasha a little worse for wear, and things settle back to normalcy— at least, what the Avengers consider normal. Tony tells them that Thor stopped by for some magical aid in the ladies' department, and while he leaves out Loki being there, they've all noticed that Tony is suddenly healed. None of them ask, so he assumes they put the pieces together on their own but don't want to rock the Tony Stark boat of sobriety by potentially bringing up the God of Mischief.

He's glad they don't ask. He wants to keep the little tryst to himself.

They don't hear from Thor for a few weeks, which isn't unusual. Loki doesn't show up, either, and while Tony is somewhat disappointed, he feels better about this absence, like at least something was settled between them. It was sex, but it wasn't just sex. He doesn't know what else it was, and he doesn't know if it's going to go anywhere. He isn't sure if he wants it to. It went to hell fast the first time, and he and Loki are a match made with explosives at the foundation.

The thing is, Tony knows that he'll never find someone to handle him the way he is unless they're just as self-destructive, and Loki fits the bill. Loki can handle everything that Pepper never could because he's just as fucked up and just as reckless. The god has enough baggage to rival Tony's, and he basically steeps himself in chaotic passion. And Tony wants it. He really does. He tries not to think about it, but he wants it, and some nights, when he's been awake for thirty-six hours straight, he wants it so much it aches.

It's not healthy. He knows that. But it's right. He knows that, too, without a flicker of a doubt.

And, he realizes, that scares the ever-loving shit out of him.

* * *

Loki comes and goes over the next few months, giving Tony no warning before he appears.

Sometimes the gods pours through the air of Tony's workshop and strips him of his grease-stained clothes before pushing him up against his worktable. The first time Loki fucks him, Tony nearly passes out when he comes.

Sometimes the god's put together. Other times, he looks like he's just waged a war, and Tony finds that Loki wants to be caressed on those nights. Tony is too happy to oblige because he likes the way Loki's eyes flutter closed and his mouth opens in silent pleasure when he ghosts his fingers across the god's pale skin and presses gentle kisses to his inner thigh.

Sometimes Tony sees him sitting on top of a roof, watching him and the other Avengers work. No one else ever sees him, not even Thor, when he's on Earth. It's just Tony's eyes that keep darting to his location. He likes the way Loki rolls his eyes when Tony fucks up because he's too busy staring at the god.

Sometimes Tony wakes up in the middle of the night to the god sliding into his bed. They don't usually speak, and they don't wrap their arms around each other. He doesn't even acknowledge his presence, except to card a hand through his long hair. Loki sighs, sinks into the pillows, and sleeps.

Other times, Tony doesn't wake up when Loki slides into bed, but he does when he feels the god's cool fingers trace patterns across his chest and around the arc reactor. These are Tony's favorite nights because he loves the way Loki stares at him when he's bathed in blue light, and occasionally these nights lead to something terrifyingly like lovemaking, with gentle hands and lips and quiet gasps. Neither of them ever say anything, and Loki is usually gone before morning arrives.

Once, and only once, the god appears shaking and panting, eyes and hair wild and skin as blue as the deep ocean. He's freezing and inconsolable, unable to control his temperature, and Tony has to wrap him in a blanket before he can crush the god in an embrace so tight his arms quiver. It takes the better part of the night before Tony is able to warm the god enough so that his skin pales. Loki doesn't say how or why or what, and Tony doesn't ask, doesn't have a chance. As soon as he's Aesir again, Loki climbs on top of him, all reckless, emotional abandon, and he cries out so loudly when he comes that Tony's afraid the others will hear even though they all stay on different floors. They've both barely got their breath back before Loki disappears.

And that's the problem. The god gives him no warning before he vanishes, and Tony doesn't know where he goes when he's gone. He's not jealous, or even feeling clingy. He just wonders, but Loki still keeps his icy barricades up with a steadfastness that pisses Tony off, only ever letting them down in the dead of night when he's moaning against Tony's lips.

It's starting to irk Tony, but he doesn't say anything. Tony Stark is many things. He doesn't think he's a coward, but maybe he is, because even when his heart is doing mad gymnastics inside of his chest when the god appears, he can't admit a damned thing.

Yeah, he's definitely a coward.

* * *

It's the end of June, and Tony hasn't seen Loki in nearly a month when there's a swarm of small, robotic crab-like things scurrying through the city. No one is really sure where they came from. Initially, Tony wonders if Dickhead von Doom is branching out, but the crabs just don't suit the villain, and he's usually very vocal about his misdeeds, so they stop trying to figure out the source and instead go on the Avengers' version of the Deadliest Catch.

It's funny, at first, because it's just so ridiculous, but there are thousands of the little fuckers, and they're just small enough that it makes aiming at them difficult. Tony is ready to mute his comms, too, because he's really tired of listening to Clint alternately scream and cackle like a madman in his ear, but he doesn't want to have another talk with Steve about communication. He's gotten a stern talking to all too regularly for shutting them out in the midst of battle.

"This is seriously the worst prank ever," Tony grumbles. "They ruined Friday pancakes."

"I can make pancakes any day, Tony," Steve says, sounding strangely close to laughing.

Tony blasts a horde of the multi-legged bots and watches the sparks fly. They're annoyingly strong. "I wanted pancakes this morning, Cap. Not tomorrow. Not Sunday. This morning. This Friday morning. It's kind of our thing. But instead, here we are, and I can't even eat these fuckers because they're made of tin."

"They're actually made of vibranium, sir," Jarvis says casually.

"No one asked you," Tony snaps.

"They're kind of cute," Natasha says calmly.

Tony huffs. "I'm about ready to quit this thing." Then he watches the Hulk jump down from a building. The robotic crustaceans surrounding him fly into the air, metal legs flailing, and they all land with a crunch on the concrete. Tony doubles over in the air, wheezing he's laughing so hard. "Oh my god, never mind. This is the best. I need popcorn."

He's still laughing when something collides with his chest. He doesn't see what hits him, but suddenly he's spiraling towards the ground. He uses his repulsers to stop his descent, and as the hum of their burn dies down, he hears tapping, the sharp sound of metal against glass. He looks down and just stares. One of the robots has its little metal legs synched into the joints of his suit, and its front pinchers are banging at his chest like it's demanding entrance. Tony can't stop himself. He starts laughing again, almost doubles over in the air.

"What's so funny?" Clint asks.

"Sir," Jarvis states, "there are several microscopic cracks in the glass casing covering the arc reactor. It will shatter if the pressure is continued. I would advise immediate removal of the threat. "

"Wait, seriously?" Tony asks, then tries to pry the little monster off. It hangs on for dear life, and no matter how much muscle and metal he puts into it, the fucker doesn't budge.

"Uh, guys, I have a problem," Tony says. "These things are, uh, more durable than I thought. I have one stuck on my chest plate. They're like face huggers."

"Can't you just blast it off?" Steve asks.

"Not that simple." Tony swallows, tries to shove a hand between the little metal monster's pinschers and his arc reactor. It's only mildly effective. The pinschers dent his gauntlet until he can feel the strikes pinch through to his hand. "I don't think Jarvis was joking when he said they're made of vibranium. It's damaging my armor. And it's right over my reactor. I'm afraid I'll fry it if I try to shoot. It's digging for China, though, so the protective casing is kind of, you know, fucked."

"Well, shit," Clint poeticizes.

"Tony, where are you?" Steve asks at the same time Jarvis says, "Sir, the casing is at ten percent structural soundness."

Tony gapes and tries to pry the thing off with renewed vigor, snarling, "How the fuck is at already at ten percent?"

"Tony!" Natasha snaps, her voice rising unnaturally high with panic. "Give us a location!"

The casing cracks before he can reply, and Tony watches shards of it fall down to the ground below. He tries to wrench the crustacean off once last time, and manages to rip one of the pinschers off with a very mild thrust of the palm repulsor, but the other nails the reactor before Tony can stop it. The comms fizzle out and Tony watches in abject horror as the arc reactor's light flickers violently before it dies.

The repulsors fail, and then Tony is plummeting down to the ground. He thinks about how he's an idiot for not landing the second Jarvis told him the arc reactor was compromised. He can't do much about it now except hope that the fall doesn't kill him. It might. He was kind of high. But he has a semi-chance, maybe. He wishes Jarvis was online to tell him so. Or put him out of his misery with fact. Jarvis is always good at that.

The suit suddenly goes cold, and then everything he can see through the eyes of his faceplate goes back. He starts to panic, but before it settles, the world is back, Tony is sprawled on the ground, and a very angry looking Norse god glares daggers down at him.

He hasn't seen Loki in weeks, and he hates how the organ in his chest, which should be busy trying not to become a pincushion, kind of flutters. He chalks it up to panic, to some stupid life-before-his-eyes moment, because it's easier.

"What were you thinking?" Loki snarls, ripping the faceplate away with such ferocity Tony flinches. The god looks positively furious, his eyes gleaming with magic. "Why did I save you if you are only going to snuff out your meaningless mortal existence?"

Tony's shaken, and he can't respond. The cold air wafting off of Loki makes him shiver. Loki frames his vibrating hands around the reactor. The magic sinks through the suit and reaches skin. Tony lets out a shaky breath. He isn't the only one breathing heavily. Loki's chest heaves, and there's a wildness about him, in the way his eyes dart from Tony's face to his chest, the way his hair falls into his face.

It makes Tony's heart do the fluttery thing again and he swallows. "I have a replacement," he whispers. He sounds far away, even to himself. "At the tower. I have a replacement. I don't just die immediately when it gets taken out."

"Curse your replacement," Loki hisses, leaning forward. "I will kill you when this is over, Stark. I would save you just to kill you."

Tony laughs, because he doesn't know what else to do, and then his jaw drops as he watches shards of glass coalesce in the air around Loki. The god's eyes are emitting verdant light now, glowing brightly, and he spreads his fingers over Tony's chest until they overlap and cover the shredded reactor in his chest. His lips move, and Tony can't hear the words, but the air changes, charges and pops with energy, and he can't take his eyes off of Loki's face because the god looks terrifying and beautiful.

Tony doesn't need to look. He feels the reactor shifting in his chest, feels the sputter of power as it flares back to life before there's a spark, a zap that makes him shudder violently. The glass, floating conspicuously around Loki's shoulders, suddenly shoots forward and Tony closes his eyes, teeth clenched because fucking hell, he's got enough shrapnel imbedded within him, and the flying pieces of glass are too much for him to stomach.

"The suit is back online," Jarvis intones.

Tony opens his eyes slowly. He looks down. The reactor glows prettily behind its protective glass casing.

He's too stunned to really process it when Jarvis says, "I'm activating communications, sir."

"Tony! Are you there?" Steve all but shrieks over the comms.

He is, he wants to say, but his voice still isn't working. He thinks about how he should probably be dead, or at least on his way there, because even if he survived the fall, he doesn't know if they'd have been able to get the replacement reactor into his chest on time.

He looks at Loki. The light in the god's eyes dulls. His pupils are blown, and he's even more pallid than before. He slumps forward slightly, putting more weight against Tony's chest. He stares at his hands for a moment, the blue light of the reactor peeking through his fingers, and then he looks up at Tony from beneath dark lashes.

"Do not be so careless with your life," he says quietly, and even though his voice is controlled, even though the words don't shake, Tony can see the turbulent emotion in his eyes.

He thinks maybe Loki's heart might be flopping around in his chest like a fish out of water, too.

"Jarvis, comms off for a second," he rasps.

The AI follows orders, and then Tony grabs the god's leathers and hauls him forward. Loki's lips open in protest, but he doesn't have a chance to say anything because Tony crushes their mouths together. Loki struggles for three seconds before he growls against Tony and wraps his arms around the suit, embracing him despite the metal.

"You're pretty handy in a fight," Tony says against his mouth, then hisses and swats at Loki when the god bites down on his lip. "What was that for?"

Loki glares at him, then kisses him savagely.

Tony can't help but feel giddy.

"Sir, I am sorry to interrupt, but you should turn on your communications before Captain Rogers has a heart attack," Jarvis states.

Tony sighs and loosens his grip on Loki. "Turn them on, Jarv."

Loki sighs and pulls back. He touches Tony's face gently, cool fingers tracing his cheekbone, before he stands.

Tony takes the hand the god offers as he hears the telltale click of his comms coming online. "Hey, guys. Surprise!"

"Thank god," Steve exhales. "Are you injured?"

"No," he says, and Tony feels momentarily guilty. The Captain sounds like he's aged another hundred years. "I'm all right."

"I was just calling dibs on your Xbox One," Clint says good-naturedly.

Natasha exhales loudly. "Where the hell are you, Stark? Are you in one piece?" She doesn't wait for him to respond. "Yes? Fantastic. We're still overrun by these things and we could use your help."

Loki leans forward, suddenly grinning, and says, loud enough for the comms to pick up, "Agent Romanoff, allow me to be of service."

"Is that who I think it is?" Clint says.

"Loki?" Steve says.

"Perfect," Natasha says, and Tony can hear the smile in her voice.

Tony doesn't answer. He watches Loki snatch one of the scrambling bots off of the ground. He holds it out, studies it with an expression of disgust, and then the robocrab begins to glow Loki's trademark green. He doesn't shatter it. He doesn't destroy it. He gently sets it back down on the ground, and then Tony watches at the crab begins to scurry around dumbly. A few crabs gather around it, and then they shudder, green electricity transferring between them. Sixty-seven seconds after being magicked— Tony has Jarvis time it— the first glowing bot topples over and powers down.

"What did you do?" Tony asks, awed.

Loki raises a brow cooly. "What do you Midgardians call it when your technology is infected? A virus, I believe?"

It takes Tony a minute to get his tongue working. "You're kidding. You just bugged them with a magical virus. No fucking way."

Loki shrugs. "I cannot accomplish such feats with more accomplished technologies, such as the robotics in your laboratory. However, while hardy, these pests are quite rudimentary."

"I am so turned on right now," Tony states, one-hundred percent serious.

"Tony, the comms!" Steve groans.

Tony throws his hands into the air. "You want them on or do you want them off, Captain Prude? Because you're giving me all these mixed signals."

Clint is laughing, and Tony is, too, but then he notices that Loki's stepping away. He reaches out and grabs the god's wrist.

"Oh, no you don't," he says, trying to be cheeky, but really, his heart is pounding so hard it hurts because he's afraid that the god is going to do it again. "Where do you think you're going, IT Crowd?"

Loki just smiles blandly, and Tony hates the feeling that curdles in the pit of his stomach.

He's definitely going to do it, he thinks, and Tony's voice drops to a whisper. "Loki. Don't go. Not yet."

The god's eyes soften, and then he's gone, and Tony is left standing alone.

* * *

When Tony finally makes it back to his workshop hours and hours later after a painful debriefing and a swarm of questions from his comrades, he carefully removes the arc reactor from his chest and studies it. Nothing is out of place. It's a perfect piece of tech, and if Tony didn't know any better, he would think he made it. Which he did, except then he unmade it with the help of a robot crab, and then a god put it back together like it was a piece of cake.

When he has Jarvis scan it, the AI notes the traces of Loki's magic that run through it like a circulatory system.

So, sometimes, even though he's trying to remain sober, Tony drinks himself stupid. He doesn't do feelings, but they apparently do him, and he needs to drown himself in something else before he thinks too much about the fact that his tin man's heart, which keeps him alive and is impervious to mind control and has changed clean energy for the better, is really, really, really fucking compromised.


	10. Madly Something

Thank you all, once again, for your support. This is the last chapter! I'm a bit sad, since this was my first FrostIron fic. However, do not despair (I sound like a tool, don't I?). I think there will be more FrostIron from me in the near future. :)

* * *

"I can't believe you're ready on time," Pepper comments as Tony gets into the limo. She's wearing a high-necked black dress with opal jewelry, and her strawberry blonde hair is pulled back into an elegant twist.

"I have to keep you on you toes," Tony replies, looking her up and down appraisingly. "You're beautiful. Looking to score at this gala? I'm going to have to fend them off with a stick. Can I be your wingman?"

Pepper rolls her eyes, exposing delicate smokey makeup on her lids when she blinks. "I'm looking to network, Tony. You know, for your business. That I run." She pauses, and then says, "You don't look too bad yourself. It's been a while since you've worn a tuxedo."

Tony speaks Pepper Potts' language, and what she's trying to say is, _It's been forever since you graced me with your presence at events you need to attend._ He gives her the satisfaction of playing along, offers her his toothiest smile, and tugs on the lapels. "Of course I look good. Who do you think I am?"

"I should have learned by now not to give you compliments," she sighs.

"Women can't not give me compliments. I just have this air about me."

"It's definitely an air," Pepper responds with a pretty smile.

Tony winks. "You minx, you."

They sit in silence for a minute, and then Pepper breaks it. Shatters it, really.

"What about you?" she asks casually. "Are you still waiting, or are you moving on tonight with some saucy gala guest?"

Tony jerks his head towards her so quickly pain shoots up his neck. Pepper's looking at him with a relatively neutral expression, mouth set in a soft line, eyebrows raised, but he sees that glimmer in her eyes reserved for discussions about feelings.

Tony is really goddamned tired of feelings.

For the millionth time, he regrets giving Pepper any ammo. While he has kept most everything to himself concerning his Norse god, he's mentioned the visits— and the subsequent absences— to her, not because he wanted to, but because she is an expert pesterer and he didn't think he would stay sane if the only person he had to talk to was Dum-E.

So, Pepper knows the details. She knows it's been six weeks since Loki graced Tony with his presence after saving his life, and she knows Tony is ready to pull his hair out. She knows that the arc reactor hidden by his tuxedo is laced with the god's magic, and even though Tony could trade it out with a different one, one of the spares he keeps for instances like this when he probably shouldn't have a magicked piece of metal in his chest, he really can't. Because he's fucked. Totally fucked. And it bothers him that Pepper knows that, which is funny in itself considering Pepper knows his weaknesses best.

When he doesn't answer, she says, "Tony, it's okay—"

"You're right," Tony replies scathingly, pouting for good measure. "You're right, it's okay. I'm moving on. I'm going to bang every single person with a pulse at this gala, Ms. Potts, and you can only blame yourself when you need to hospitalize me because my most important part doesn't work any more."

Pepper's eyes widen, and then she starts laughing. "Tony," she begins, but she can't finish the sentence because she's still laughing.

Tony smiles. It's not often he can elicit such uncontrollable laugher from Pepper. It soothes him a bit.

She dabs at the corners of her eyes with a knuckle, still gasping out a chuckle here and there, and when she's finally composed herself, face much more flushed, she gives him a bone-meltingly sweet smile. "It's not okay, is it?"

"Fuck no," Tony says quietly, but he smiles back at her. "But I'm okay. I promise, Pep. Don't worry."

"When you tell me not to worry, my automatic response is to worry," she says, shaking her head.

"I've got to work on this conditioning thing. Maybe I can clicker train you."

She smacks his arm.

They're bombarded by camera flashes, hand shakes, and kisses to either cheek when they arrive, and by the time Tony can escape to the bar, he's exhausted. He hates these functions. Everyone panders, simpers, and all together annoys the hell out of him, and he has to take it smiling because if he doesn't, Pepper will murder him in his sleep. It doesn't stop him from having fun— it's easy enough to talk over their heads, to make witty jokes Pepper glares daggers at him for— but he'd rather be in his workshop.

He orders a drink and leans against the bar, surveying the room. Pepper is surrounded by several men and a few women, all of whom Tony recognize but can't remember the names of, so he decides not to rescue her and either embarrass himself or get sucked into some long-winded conversation he doesn't care about.

"Mr. Stark, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Tony looks to right and almost spits his drink on the owner of the silky voice. She's tall and thin, wearing a strapless, dark green gown accented with a black strip of lace that encircles her waist. Her dark hair twists over one shoulder in a mass of silky curls. Her smile, painted red, is wicked, and Tony could cut metal for his newest suit with her cheekbones. It's her eyes, though, that make Tony's pants a little tight. They're the same color as her dress, and they're half-lidded with amusement and something a lot darker.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asks sweetly.

Tony works hard to keep his expression impassive as he sets his drink down and turns, then slowly crowds the woman against the bar. He places a hand on either side of her to box her in and tries to ignore the fact that his palms are sweating like he's in high school. He stops with a few inches at best between them and tilts his head. She tilts hers back, curls slipping over the pale skin of her shoulder, exposing more jutting collarbone.

"I want to kiss you," Tony whispers huskily.

She grins wide. "That would be inappropriate, Mr. Stark. We've only just met."

He leans forward and brushes his lips against hers. She softens under him, edging her body forward and her head back. She tastes his snow and mint. He pulls back slightly and then rests his cheek against hers, hands sliding on the bar until he's almost embracing her. "Loki, this isn't playing fair," he whines.

She chuckles darkly and one of her hands unbuttons his jacket, then slides over the buttons of his shirt to rest on the arc reactor. The dark-painted nails tap against it in a soothing rhythm. "I never play fair, Stark. I am surprised you recognized me so easily, however."

He snorts. "You're wearing black and green. You need a new color palette if you want to trick me."

She hums her agreement and turns her head slightly so that her lips skim his earlobe. "Shall I wear crimson and gold next time?"

He huffs out a laugh against her hair. "That would be the day."

She presses a kiss to his earlobe.

He sighs, entire body deflating, and asks, "Where have you been?"

"Oh, here and there," she replies.

Tony sighs, grabbing her wrist, stopping her gentle caress of the arc reactor so he can focus. "Why can't you just give me a straight answer?"

She pulls back as much as she can and pins him with a scathing look. "I do not recall you being my keeper, Stark."

Tony's brows reach for his hairline. "So that's how this is going to play out? You save my life— again— then just disappear for weeks, but you can't even tell me where you've been when I ask?"

"Do I have an obligation to tell you such things?" she asks cooly. "I did not think so."

"Are you trying to piss me off by being difficult?"

She cocks her head but saying nothing.

The annoyance builds up and he's pretty sure his eye is twitching. His hands slide off of the bar and up the small of her back, then to her hips. He curls his fingers in the silky fabric of the dress and hauls her forward until they're flush against each other, and he means to say something sexy and snarky into her hair, but what comes out is, "I missed you."

Loki stills, even her breathing, and Tony bites back a curse. He did not meant to say that, but the words just tumbled from his mouth. He thinks back to what could have fried his brain so badly, then remembers that less than two months ago, a robot crab army invading Manhattan managed to break his heart— literally— and then Loki put it back together— literally— and then Loki disappeared. As per usual. Except Tony's realized he doesn't want the leaving to be part of the usual.

So, really, Tony's not all that surprised his head-mouth filter is malfunctioning.

The seconds stretch out and he's about to pull away when she finally replies, "I missed you, as well." Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper.

Tony groans and dips his head to nip at the juncture of shoulder and neck. She shivers against him. "I never thought someone saying sentimental things would turn me on so much."

She doesn't respond, just leans into him, and Tony closes his eyes, his lips still pressed to her skin.

"You are acting quite odd," she muses, her index finger tracing circles around the arc reactor again. Tony can't see it, but he can feel the cold magic sinking into his skin.

"You have that affect on me," he says, then hurriedly adds, "especially when you show up as such a pretty woman."

Loki chuckles. "Do you prefer this form?"

There's no trickery in the words, just curiosity. Tony smiles and leans back slightly, allowing one hand to leave her hip so he can twirl a lock of hair around his finger. She smiles sedately, eyes hooded, as she stares up at him expectantly.

"I like it a lot," he answer truthfully, "but really, I'd take you in any form. I like all of you."

He bites back the grin that threatens when Loki flushes, her cheekbones tinging a pale pink. "What?"

He cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrows. "I would take you in any form." He pauses, weighs the silence, and decides to go for it. "Even the blue one. I kind of like the blue one."

She flinches like she's been struck and her skin chills. "I ask that you do not toy with me, Stark."

There's a warmth and tightness in Tony's chest that's almost painful. He says, "I'm not toying with you."

"You tell me, then, that you prefer a monster," she hisses.

He leans close, until they're sharing breath, and whispers, "You're not a monster. Would you like me to prove it? Teleport us out of here and drop all the glamours. I'll show you how much I want you."

Loki looks downright terrified.

Tony steps back, his hand falling from her hair. He doesn't know what to do with that expression. It's open and vulnerable, and good things never happen when Loki feels open and vulnerable. "Hey, listen—"

"Tony!"

He growls under his breath and turns to find Pepper walking towards him, one eyebrow arched. She looks smug and disapproving at the same time. She almost stumbles when she's about ten feet from him and blinks rapidly, her smile faltering.

Tony closes his eyes and clenches his fists. He wants to scream. "She's gone, isn't she?" he asks without turning back towards the bar.

"She just disappeared!" Pepper snaps, trying and failing to yell at him under her breath. The bartender gives them a sidelong glance but otherwise ignores them. "What the hell, Tony?"

"I didn't think the bastard was going to spook," he mutters and finally grabs his drink, knocking it back in one swallow. It burns deliciously. He sets the glass back on the bar top, then waves down the bartender. "If you see this empty," he says, "you fill it, do you hear me?" He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a wad of bills, and tosses them onto the bar.

"Yes, sir," the bartender says, and immediately pours him another finger of scotch after pocketing the tip.

"Tony, who was that woman?" Pepper demands.

Tony just smiles blandly and takes a sip.

"No," Pepper whispers, stepping closer. She's been with him long enough to read his looks. "No. It can't be. Was that seriously him?"

Tony closes his eyes for a second, trying to steady himself. He feels like his head might screw off if he isn't careful. "Yup."

Pepper clucks her tongue and flicks his upper arm. "What did you say to him to cause that kind of reaction?"

"You know, Pep, oddly enough, I wasn't the one being an asshole for once," he responds tightly.

She gets that look again, the soft one that makes his stomach clench because yeah, Pepper Potts can read him like a book. "Jesus, Tony."

"I'm going outside," he sighs. "I need some air."

Pepper just nods. She doesn't follow him. She knows better.

Tony finds a door, then another door, then a stairwell. He hikes fifteen flights of stairs before he finally makes it to the roof, and he's in damned good shape, but he's still breathing a little harder than normal. He thinks some of that's from his nerves, so he takes another drink, because that's how Tony Stark deals with nerves. He drowns them in booze.

It's a bit cold for September. The delightfully chilly air cuts through his clothing and cools the sweat beaded on his forehead and the back of his neck. It feels good, and he leans against the door, surveying the view. The city stretches out around him in a constellation of bright lights. He feels comfortable up here, away from everything else. If it wouldn't disappoint Pepper, he would have called his suit and taken to the skies because that's where Tony likes to go when he needs time to think: either high in the sky or deep down below Avengers Tower. Tony never liked the middle ground. He always strives for extremes.

He closes his eyes against the swarm of drunken butterflies that are pinballing around his stomach. He thought he wasn't sure where he wanted it to go, the tense relationship he has with Loki, but he's known to some degree since he saw the god's face the day he pieced Tony's arc reactor back together like it was a kid's Disney puzzle that the odd, violent limbo they're in isn't enough. Tony Stark wants extremes.

"I am so fucked," he mutters to himself and finishes his drink.

He isn't sure how long he stands there, but his feet are starting to go numb when he feels a more intense cold wash over him along with a tingle that crawls across his skin. He opens his eyes slowly, already knowing Loki will be there, and he is, standing less than a foot from Tony.

The god is dressed in a dark suit that offsets his blue skin and crimson eyes, and there's a look on his face that screams trepidation. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, just stares at Tony, his mouth set in a grim line. Tony slowly bends down to set the glass on the floor, then he moves. He grabs Loki's face, fingers digging into cold skin, and draws him down until his own back is pressed against the door with Loki's lips slanting over his own.

"You are mad," Loki hisses against him. "You are mad to want this."

"I'm madly something," Tony agrees, fingers combing through Loki's hair.

His heart flips around like a fucking dolphin when he feels Loki's slow smile against his lips. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends Pepper a text that he's going to be otherwise engaged for the evening just before Loki's magic surges through them both and they're back in the tower, standing at the foot of his bed.

Loki is painfully still as Tony undresses him. His expression betrays nothing, but he shivers when Tony trails his fingertips along the lines that mark his body and lets out a breathy gasp when Tony repeats it with his tongue. His skin fluctuates in temperature when Tony kisses him, too, dipping colder before heating back up, and Tony doesn't care. He enjoys the chill, groans when Loki finally tears him out of his tux and splays frosty, blue hands across his chest before kissing him with a desperation that makes Tony wrap his arms around the god as they tumble into bed.

He bites, licks, kisses, caresses until Loki is all but baring his teeth in frustration and need, and when Tony finally wraps his hand around Loki— he is so deliciously, almost painfully cold— it only takes a few slow pumps before the god climaxes with a strangled groan. Tony uses the god's come to slick himself, and Loki stares up at him, panting and wide-eyed, as he positions himself and then slides inside.

Loki is freezing cold, and Tony is burning hot, and he can't hold himself back. Loki clings to him, nails digging into his shoulders, and all but snarls Tony's name when Tony finds the tangle of nerves that makes Loki buck up against him violently. Loki comes again, clenching so tightly that Tony has no choice but to follow, and he kisses the god, swallowing his strangled sobs.

Tony thinks Loki is going to glamour himself again afterwards, but he doesn't. He lays on his side, one arm pillowing his head, and stares at Tony between the locks of dark hair that fall over his face. Tony stares back, mimicking the pose. They stay that way, not speaking, and eventually, Loki reaches out to touch the arc reactor almost reverently.

"You did not remove it for another," he says quietly.

"Why would I?"

Loki's eyes narrow. "It is imbued with magic. My magic. You do realize this, do you not? It will cease to function properly if you were to use your pulse, or if another magic user targets it."

Tony nods and shrugs. He doesn't trust himself to speak.

"I can stop its function at any time," Loki continues, his voice becoming more strained with each word. "I will be able to find you anywhere, should you ever chose to run from me. Do you understand these implications? Do you understand the power I now hold over your mortal life?"

"Yes," Tony says.

Loki's mask falls away, leaving him looking vulnerable and broken. "And yet you will leave it in your chest?"

Tony shrugs again, and while he wants to look away, he doesn't. He can't. He just says, "It's where it belongs."

Loki swallows, his jaw flexing, and keeps his hand pressed to the arc reactor. Tony thinks he might say something else, but he doesn't, and Tony's okay with that. He's surprised they got this far, and he's not about to push it, not when he has Loki in his bed, all pretenses dropped. He's going to cherish it like the sap he's become because he doesn't know the next time he'll even see the god.

They lay there for awhile, and Tony's eyelids finally get heavy. He smiles, rests his hand over Loki's, and passes out.

* * *

Tony wakes up alone, and he's not surprised, but he's gotten soft, so it still feels like someone's torn out his reactor and the shrapnel is making minced meat out of his heart. He tries not to think about it. He showers and dresses, then heads downstairs, feet dragging. It's Sunday. Sunday mornings are a toss-up for breakfast, depending on who's around. Tony hopes it isn't Clint. His omelets are terrible.

"Coffee," he groans as he enters the kitchen. "Give me coffee."

Then he freezes.

Natasha and Clint are sitting at the table with Steve behind them stirring batter in a glass bowl, and Loki is sitting at the table with them, wrapped in Tony's red, silk robe like a fucking Christmas present. He raises a brow, then nods towards the coffee maker.

"Agent Romanoff has just made a fresh pot, and Captain Rogers has kindly offered to make waffles," he says, then grins wickedly.

"I call first dibs on waffles," Clint says.

Tony is still standing there, mouth agape, when Bruce steps into the kitchen.

"Aw, dammit," he mutters, fishes a bill out of his pocket, and then dead-man-walks towards the table.

"Thank you," Natasha says with a bat of her lashes as she takes the bill. It disappears into her pajamas.

"No gambling at the table, guys," Steve says.

"Seriously, why is no one involving me in these bets?" Tony stutters. "What was this one even about?"

No one answers. Natasha just smiles.

"This is like the Twilight Zone," Tony says as he sits down, accepting the cup of coffee Clint offers him. "Nat's smiling, and we're eating breakfast with a semi-reformed super villain from space who I'm sleeping with, and Steve isn't wearing the apron I bought him."

"It's in the wash," Steve defends.

Clint groans and claps his hands over his ears. "Seriously. It's too early for this."

"Maybe we've all finally gone mad," Bruce offers as he makes his tea.

Loki's eyes glint and his lips turn up in a small smile. "Madly something, indeed," he says quietly.

Tony just grins.


End file.
